


The Ambitious Card

by amcw177



Series: *Heroes Not Included [3]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Con Artists, Explosions, Gokudera Hayato/Yamamoto Takeshi - UST, M/M, Mukuro Rokudo/Hibari Kyouya - heavily one-sided UST, Robbery, Theft, mild violence, please do not try this, white collar au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-23
Updated: 2014-09-23
Packaged: 2018-02-18 13:04:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 34,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2349419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amcw177/pseuds/amcw177
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An old acquaintance of Hibari's resurfaces as the number one suspect in a peculiar museum heist. The resulting tension might cost Hibari his job, Gokudera his sanity, and everyone involved their heads.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Double Lift

**Author's Note:**

> *sweats nervously* Okay, so, this is part 3 (and thus, the final part) of the *Heroes Not Included series. I know the series is hella old (You can read it on AO3 now, though! Woohoo!) and I don't know if anyone is still interested in it, but this was planned as a three-parter and now it finally is.
> 
> Inspired by the TV show 'White Collar'.
> 
> Please keep in mind that this was written and was meant to take place in 2011.
> 
> Many thanks to kentucka, who had a big hand in helping me come up with Mukuro's plan. We're fairly sure that it wouldn't work in reality, but it was fun contemplating it. Also, it is entirely possible that Slovenia has negotiated an extradition treaty with the US in the meantime.
> 
>  **Beta:** I'll be honest with you, this is so old and has been revised so many times I can't remember who had their hands on this. I can only guess that [kentucka](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kentucka) has read it at some point, as has [doomcake](http://archiveofourown.org/users/doomcake), and, possibly dicks (LJ). Also, I think [kchanlp](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kchanlp) has had a look at it too. If anyone else remembers reading this and I forgot to mention you here, please let me know.
> 
> FYI, the [Ambitious Card](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ambitious_card) is a popular card trick in which one card is placed in the middle of the deck and seemingly returns to the top.

Gokudera fumbled with the cables. It was hard to tell them apart in the dark, with just a flashlight wobbling between his teeth. The constant drizzle and the chilly night air were not helping either.

"Twenty seconds."

Gokudera spat out the flashlight. "Will you get off my back? I'm trying to work here."

"Work faster."

He briefly considered murder via flashlight but then decided against it. He was in enough trouble already. He was a convicted criminal in the service of the FBI, attempting to break into a warehouse in the wee hours of morning, with the most unlikely partner in crime imaginable: Hibari Kyouya - who was being a fucking pain in the ass.

"Here," Gokudera shoved the flashlight at Hibari. "Hold this."

He quickly glanced at the camera above the shutter gate. It rotated from side to side with a low whirring sound. Hibari's estimate seemed disturbingly accurate. Gokudera frowned in concentration, plucking two cables from the box, and freeing them from their plastic shielding. Hibari was observing him like a Powerpoint presentation on the migration of sea sponges. Either he was not worried at all about getting caught or he had more faith in Gokudera's abilities than expected.

Something behind the gate clicked and Gokudera smiled. "See? If you stop bugging me I work far b- _Whoa!_ "

Hibari practically tossed him into the warehouse before the gate had even rattled all the way open - as it turned out just in time before the camera completed its cycle. All it caught were two sets of fading footprints in the mud.

"Fuck," Gokudera flapped his jacket, shooting Hibari an angry glare. "You could have _said_ something."

"Would that have made you move faster?" Hibari didn't look at him. He was busy examining their surroundings - as much as could be seen in the dim emergency lighting.

"Asshole," Gokudera said, just to make a point. He glanced around, his gaze following the slow path of Hibari's flashlight. The beam of light bounced off of hundreds of stacks of paper, carefully packaged in foil. There had to be at least a dozen rows of it.

"Seems like we've come to the right place," Gokudera stood next to Hibari, who nodded. His eyes were narrowed as if he was trying to read the labels on the racks. "What now, Sherlock?"

"We get some evidence," Hibari said, striding forward to the nearest rack, but Gokudera held him back.

"And do what with it? Dump it on the field director's desk and hope that he's just going to roll with it?" Gokudera shook his head. "Do I need to remind you that you're not an FBI agent anymore?"

Hibari's look was that of a kid who was resolutely refusing to accept that Santa was only uncle Bob in a costume, "Temporarily suspended."

"And you think grand theft will help you get back in?"

"I will not let him get away this time," Hibari snarled and Gokudera sighed. In this state Hibari was like one of those trained Rottweilers that only let go if you remembered a certain command. Fortunately, Gokudera knew of ways to circumnavigate getting bitten in the first place: Throw the dog a bone and you might get to keep your extremities.

"Look," Gokudera turned to face Hibari and prevented him from venturing any further into the warehouse. He started ticking off bulletpoints with his fingers. "If we nick something now he will a) know about it sooner than anyone can start a proper investigation and he'll just move the stuff elsewhere. And b) even _if_ your goddamned ex-agency accepts the evidence by way of some kind of biblical miracle it would still not hold up in court because guess what? _Stolen evidence is still not legal_ , no matter how much you want it to be, Matlock."

Hibari said nothing; Gokudera was familiar with his current expression. He was weighing sensible arguments versus a hefty blow with his tonfa. When his weapons remained hidden Gokudera continued, "We can't take anything but we can make your FBI friends discover this place themselves. All we need to do is make it _look_ like we took something."

Hibari inclined his head, his eyes suddenly glinting in the stark glow of his flashlight, "He will think he was found out and will try to move his stash."

Gokudera nodded, triumphantly waving his arms around, "And thanks to a very helpful anonymous tip, the FBI will be here to help him with that."

"Alright," Hibari agreed, pointing his flashlight at a random stack of paper. Gokudera stopped him before he could trash the entire warehouse though.

"Wait a minute. You don't have to go all Godzilla on this place," he pulled a small Swiss Army Knife from his pocket and handed it to Hibari with a sly grin. "Just slice the plastic wrapping. He won't bother counting the sheets, trust me."

Hibari took the knife, holding it up like a father confronting his son about the stash of porn under the bed, "You should not be having this."

Gokudera smirked and shrugged, "I know. There's a lot of things we shouldn't be doing or having right now."

Hibari scowled but firmly grasped the knife and made his way to the first rack. Something clicked. It was a small sound, like someone playing with a ball-pen.

"Did you hear that?" Gokudera breathed, rooted to the spot.

Hibari stood stock-still a few feet from him. Both of them slowly looked down. The thin silver wire gleamed in the beam of the flashlight; it travelled off into the darkness, after making a tiny crook around Hibari's leg.

"Get out!" Gokudera screamed, launching himself forward to grab Hibari's arm. He dragged Hibari with him towards the exit just as the first _beep_ resounded through the hall.

There was no second warning. The warehouse burst into a ball of flame like a cram-full waterballoon under pressure.


	2. French Drop

_'Money makes the world go round.'_

Or so it was said. Gokudera was soon going to find out that every so often it was the other way around. For now, Gokudera was eyeing an ancient drachma in a bullet-proof glass container. It didn't seem to be going anywhere. Behind him, a battalion of FBI goons were whizzing through the hallways, taking notes and pictures, talking to employees, and babbling on their phones.

It was early morning but instead of birds catching worms, chaos and panic had descended upon the Museum of Science and Technology. Its director, a relatively young man with wild red hair and glasses that tended to slip off his nose, was currently explaining in excruciating detail what a disaster this was for the museum. He also seemed to be having serious trouble holding in his breakfast. So far, he'd been off to the toilet twice.

Hibari was getting impatient, which usually led to violent shortcuts in procedure. Gokudera used the third time the director excused himself to step up to his partner and save a man's life.

"So?" He asked nonchalantly, swirling the coffee in his Kusakabe-sponsored plastic cup. "What are we dealing with?"

Hibari's second in command had rung them out of bed at an ungodly hour, informing Hibari of a break-in at the museum. Naturally, Gokudera had also been roused from his sleep and cajoled into planting his ass in the passenger seat of Hibari's car. The information given to them on the phone had been brief, which was why they were now forced to get it out of the director.

Hibari shrugged, glancing around like a man in the cleaning aisle - everything was potentially useful but completely uninteresting, "Indigestion, I would say."

Gokudera grimaced, "Ha. Ha. Funny. The break-in, not the director, jerk."

Hibari shot him a dark look, "I was not joking. He has barely told me anything."

Gokudera glanced at the door of the men's room and tried not to think of breakfast, "Do they have a list of what's missing?"

"They are still compiling it."

"What?" Gokudera's eyebrows shot up. "They don't know what they have in here? What shit kind of place is this?"

Hibari shook his head, waving his right-hand man over, "It seems part of their latest delivery has gone missing. It only arrived this morning and hasn't been catalogued yet."

Kusakabe came jogging over, handing Hibari a clip-board, "That's the shipping log. They are still going through the crates but so far we have identified fifty-two items that are missing."

Gokudera leaned into Hibari to take a peek at the list and frowned. He recognised some of the items by their description.

"What the hell are they planning to set up here?"

Hibari arched an eyebrow in question. Gokudera snatched the clip-board from him and flipped through the pages, indicating several objects, "Here. That's part of a suction feeder board for a Roland Parva 654."

Two FBI-trained faces remained absolutely blank. Gokudera sighed, remembering that not everyone could name every historical figure ever featured on a banknote - in chronological order, "It's a printing press."

He skimmed the rest of the list and found ever more parts that went with one or more machines, "And this one. See? That belongs to a 1970 Planeta."

"We are having an exhibition about the history of money making." The voice was small and obviously struggling with its owner's last visit to the toilet. All three of them turned around to face the museum director, who squirmed under their combined attention but tried to at least appear knowledgeable.

"You seem well-informed," he eyed Gokudera, wearing a slightly uncertain smile. He held out his hand to greet Gokudera. "My name is Irie Shoichi. I'm the director of this museum. Are you an expert in the art of printing?"

Gokudera wasn't sure how to answer that. "I, uh, I've done some work in the field, yes."

"Ah," Irie said, pushing his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose.

"What's so special about these parts?" Hibari butted in, obviously done with small-talk. "Why not take the entire shipment?"

"It's easier." The answer came in unison from both Gokudera and the director. Gokudera shot Irie a bewildered look, upon which the man held up his hands as if they had accused _him_ of stealing the goods. "I-I meant that you would need a very big truck to transport all the crates, let alone the entire machines, and I suppose that would have drawn a lot of attention. But taking out a few parts here and there only requires a quick hand, and maybe an SUV or two."

Hibari looked to Gokudera for confirmation, who nodded. "True. From what I can tell the missing items are not so big you couldn't stuff them into a small bus or something. Some of them even fit into your pocket."

The agent dropped the clip-board into Kusakabe's hands, gesturing at the disarray of packaging strewn around the hall. "Why would someone steal parts of printing presses?"

Hibari’s gaze bored into Gokudera's skull like goddamned laser beams.

"I don't fucking know," Gokudera hissed. "Maybe they've already got the rest."

"Is that possible?" Hibari's attention suddenly snapped back to the director and for someone who wasn't used to it that could have the same effect as sitting in a car that hit a tree. One moment you were fine and the next you were facing off with an immovable force of nature.

"S-sorry?" Irie's glasses were slipping again but this time he didn't notice, "Oh! Well... sure. Printing presses are auctioned and re-sold all the time. So are individual parts. Although I doubt presses like these would go on auction anywhere."

"Why?" Hibari arched one eyebrow and Gokudera smiled knowingly.

"Because they were used to print money," he said with a sly grin. Hibari knew Gokudera's history with the financial world better than anyone else but he seemed to be a lot less amused about it.

Hibari shot him a suspicious look, "Are these printing presses still in use?"

Gokudera shook his head no, "None of them, actually. I know the Roland Parva machines were rather popular in the 80's, some were operating until '95."

"Where?"

Gokudera shrugged; he wasn't goddamned Wikipedia, for crying out loud. "Shit, I don't know. I think there was one in France in the late 80's and another one in Luxembourg. Italy was operating one until at least '92 but that was more of a back-up machine than anything else."

While Hibari only gave a silent nod as he slowly wandered off to inspect the corridors between the countless wooden crates, Irie was gaping at Gokudera with wide eyes. "Excuse me-," there went the glasses again. "-what did you say your profession was?"

"Consultant." Hibari's voice carried over from behind a stack of boxes.

"He-," Irie craned his neck to catch a glimpse of him. "You heard that?"

Gokudera offered the man a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, "He was hit by a meteor when he was a kid. He's been trying to suppress his super-villain powers ever since. But don't tell anyone."

"I heard that too."

"See?" Gokudera grinned. Irie's expression turned from confusion into something akin to horror.

"What's missing here?" It sounded like Hibari was standing a few aisles to their left. Together with Kusakabe they followed Hibari's voice. They found him standing in front of a clear display that was half-unpacked. It showed what looked like a progression of coins. Gokudera moved closer and indeed, there was one missing in the middle. The indent in the plush bedding was there but the coin wasn't.

Irie peered at the showcase, his eyes narrowing in thought, "Ah. That should be a Fiorino."

"It's a gold coin, first minted in Florence in the 13th century," Gokudera explained before Hibari could crash-test Irie with another question.

"Correct." Irie agreed, seemingly impressed by Gokudera's expertise.

"Was it valuable?"

Irie scratched his head, "Of course. To the right person anything in here is of value."

Gokudera squeezed his eyes shut in silent misgiving. Hibari had posed a simple yes/no question and he absolutely hated getting an answer outside of the preset range of options.

Obviously, Irie noticed that too; he quickly corrected himself, "What I meant was that it is not the most expensive item in our collection but certainly worth its share on the black market."

"Then why this one?" Hibari asked but it was as if he was talking to the blank spot inside the showcase. Gokudera frowned; something about this coin was bothering Hibari and whatever irked him didn't bode well for the rest of them.

"I'm not sure," Irie mistook it as a direct question. "It _is_ a very sought-after coin, due to its design. Florence was the first city state to print these. They were so popular that other cities soon started copying them. Maybe I have a picture somewhere..."

Gokudera had counted on the director bustling off to search some dusty library but Irie was living proof that 'museum' didn't necessarily mean 'technologically challenged'. Especially not a museum that prided itself in teaching about science and technology.

Irie whipped out his cell phone and started typing. "There it is," he announced and turned the screen towards his visitors. They examined the picture and Gokudera suddenly felt as if the temperature in the room had soared beyond bearable. He turned his head and found Hibari fixing the screen with a look that was twenty percent surprise and eighty percent pure, unadulterated hatred.

And the hatred quotient was quickly rising, if Hibari's hands balling into fists was any indication.

"It was named Fiorino because it bore Florence's crest, a lily," Irie happily rambled on but neither Gokudera nor Hibari were listening.

"Okay," Gokudera tried to force Hibari to look at him. "What the fuck's the matter?"

But Hibari didn't answer; instead he turned on his heel and stormed out of the building.

"D-did I say something wrong?" Irie clutched his cell phone to his chest like a personal shield.

Gokudera threw Hibari's quickly retreating form a suspicious glance before following him, "I'm not sure..."

\---

"Alright," Gokudera crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Talk to me."

He had cornered Hibari outside the warehouse, near the fence. The noise from the warehouse was reduced to a faint buzz behind him but the real commotion was before him. He'd never seen Hibari like this. He was agitated, like a cat during a thunderstorm. He was positively bristling with anger and Gokudera came to the horrifying realisation that once it started showing on Hibari's face shit had really hit the fan.

"It's nothing," Hibari growled. The nerve in his jaw was twitching like he was trying to chew through a cable.

Gokudera laughed, humorless, and took a step towards Hibari, "Yeah, because _’nothing’_ always makes you flee from a building."

"Leave it be." Hibari was hissing like a rattlesnake that had its tail stomped on.

"No, I'm not fucking leaving it be!" Gokudera yelled, gesturing vividly. "Something's wrong and I want to know what the hell it is!"

For a moment Hibari seemed to actually consider telling him but his stubbornness obviously took over. Again.

"I can't tell you what I don't know." The moment Hibari admitted to not knowing something was the day they were all going to die in the fiery Apocalypse. Since it was still raining water instead of fire and brimstone, Gokudera figured that there had to be _something_.

But Hibari brushed past him in long strides, his lips a determined line of defiance. Gokudera remained behind, staring at the empty spot where Hibari had been standing. So, Hibari didn't want to talk. Fine. Gokudera knew how to make him interested in a conversation.

"I am going to regret this very, very much," he sighed, giving his brain another few seconds to come up with an alternative but nothing presented itself. "Hey!" Gokudera sprinted after Hibari, grabbing him by the sleeve of his suit. Hibari spun around, probably ready to strike, but Gokudera was faster. Every dog had its day and Gokudera decided it was today. His blow hit Hibari square in the chin, which happened to be lot harder than he'd expected.

"Can we talk now?" Gokudera shook his hand, flexing his aching knuckles while Hibari was crouched down a few feet away, glaring at him. The next thing he knew, the tonfa appeared out of nowhere and Hibari was in a fighting stance, _smirking_.

"Shit," Gokudera cursed but it was more to himself than anyone else. "I hate this part."


	3. Twister

"Rokudo Mukuro," Kusakabe said the name as if he expected Gokudera to know the man. Hell, he acted as if this Mukuro character was some sort of rock star of the underworld. But Gokudera had yet to understand why.

Gokudera squinted at the large screen where file after file was popping up. They were back at HQ - after a small pit-stop at the hospital. Half of Gokudera's torso was now covered in bandages underneath his tattered shirt. The ice pack he was resting his arm on, sadly, didn't do anything, and on top of that the stitches along his left eyebrow were burning like a fucking wildfire. Compared to Hibari he was a walking patient chart.

But at least Gokudera was now seated in one of the comfy chairs of the conference room with Kusakabe doing a little show and tell while Hibari sat at the other end of the table, seething like a coffee pot.

"Okay...?" Gokudera raised his eyebrows. "What did he do?"

Kusakabe gave a low laugh but immediately stifled it when he glanced at Hibari. He cleared his throat and began to click through the data, "You would have better luck asking what he _didn't_ do. Grand theft, insurance fraud, money laundering, ties to the Italian mafia, suspect in a dozen murder cases-"

"Okay, okay," Gokudera cut in. "I get it. He's a really bad guy. My question is: what did he do to give _him_ -," he waved a hand at Hibari, "-high blood pressure?"

Kusakabe was clearly uncomfortable but when Hibari merely continued to gnash his teeth in silence, he went on, "We've been chasing him for years but we could never make anything stick. All we have is circumstantial evidence and wild theories. It's been very-"

"Frustrating?" Gokudera suggested with a sour look at Hibari. "Tell me about it."

Kusakabe gave a cautious nod, "It was Kyo-san's case until Mukuro somehow... disappeared. We tried to locate him but without much luck. Eventually, we were forced to abandon our search and take on new cases."

Gokudera swiveled around in his chair to face Hibari and grimaced, "You quit that case for me? I'm touched."

"Not you specifically," Hibari growled as he stood up and walked up to them. "We have many cases. You were-"

"A surprise?" Gokudera grinned. "A challenge?"

Hibari was not impressed with his suggestions, "An anomaly."

"Would it hurt to actually _say_ you appreciate me? Just once?" Gokudera rolled his eyes and sighed.

"No." Hibari deadpanned. "If you gave me a reason to."

"What?" Gokudera jumped up from his chair. "What the fuck have I been doing this past year and a half, huh? Half your cases would be fucking garbage without me!"

He threw the ice pack at Hibari but the agent caught it with irritating ease. Gokudera wished he had more. He couldn't believe that the bastard had the guts to question his work - after everything that had happened.

"I am not talking about the other cases," Hibari tossed the ice pack back at him but it landed unceremoniously on the floor when Gokudera ignored it. "I am talking about this one."

Gokudera blinked, "What do you want to hear?"

"How about you start by telling me how he pulled it off?"

Gokudera gawked at Hibari who was sliding into the chair across from him. Gokudera narrowed his eyes, "I know what you're doing."

Hibari's smirk was almost imperceptible, "I'm asking you a question."

"No," Gokudera grinned triumphantly, pointing an accusatory finger at Hibari. "You're trying to get me riled up so I'll catch this son of a bitch for you."

"If anything _I'll_ be the one to catch him."

Gokudera shook his head and slumped back into his chair, laughing, "Trust me, I don't need to be angry to be better than this freak."

Hibari reached down to pick up the ice pack and pushed it towards him with a clever smile, "Prove it."

"You're on, bastard," Gokudera mirrored Hibari's smile, shoving the ice pack under his injured arm. "If we assume that you're right about this scumbag he must have left a trail of bribes."

"You mean at the museum?" Kusakabe speculated. Good, loyal, trusted Kusakabe - he was obviously completely unfazed by the recent exchange.

"No, I don't think so," Gokudera mused. "The shipment was brand-new. They only opened it at the museum, right?"

Kusakabe nodded while Hibari kept looking at him like M giving 007 a new assignment. It was both unnerving and strangely exciting.

"Were the customs seals still intact?"

"As far as we could tell, yes." Kusakabe nodded again.

Gokudera comfortably leaned back in his chair, smiling, "Then you're probably looking at someone at customs."

"Why not someone at the airport of dispatch?" Hibari pondered. "Before the crates went on the plane."

"Possible, but...," Gokudera grinned. "Look, I don't know how good you think your boy Mukuro is but did you check out the countries of origin? They received items from all over Europe. He would need someone at every airport. I very much doubt that."

Hibari's eyes were fixed on him but they were alight with something that Gokudera was almost sure was a distant relative of approval.

"Check everyone at customs who was on duty during the time the shipment was held there." Hibari finally said, speaking to Kusakabe but still looking at Gokudera. "Check their bank accounts too."

"I would have paid them in cash," Gokudera interjected casually.

"And see if anyone has recently made any purchases above their pay grade," Hibari concluded. Kusakabe gave a curt nod and hurried out of the room.

They remained seated, staring at each other in silence for a long while until Gokudera decided to state the obvious, "You didn't need me to figure that out."

Hibari shrugged, "It was faster this way."

"Bullshit," Gokudera snorted. "What's this really about? And how on earth can you tell that it's really him?"

Hibari looked away, which was a telltale sign that he was either hiding something or was ready to end the conversation on a violent note, if necessary.

Gokudera wasn't sure which it was and so he took a shot in the dark, "It's the coin, isn't it? What's so special about it that he would take only this one?"

For a moment it seemed as if Hibari was going to refuse to answer - as he often did. He stood up, righting his suit but he didn't leave, "He likes lilies."

"And you know that how...?" Dreadful suspicion reared its ugly head, despite Gokudera's better judgement.

Hibari suddenly glared at him as if he'd asked whether or not they had used a condom, "I chased him longer than anyone else. I know it the same way I know you like your coffee black, that you have a soft spot for Haydn, and that you tend to fiddle with the lapels of your jacket when you're lying."

 _Damn_ ; next time he was giving the truth aesthetic surgery he really had to pay attention to that. But that was not even what worried him.

"All of these are things you learned _after_ we’d met in person," Gokudera frowned. "No amount of research could have told you that."

"I _have_ met him," Hibari snarled. He was clearly not very happy about it.

Gokudera's frown deepened, "And? What happened?"

The heat of highly distilled hatred oozed out of Hibari’s every pore like emotionally laden lava. He did wonder what kind of man Mukuro had to be to evoke this sort of intense emotion from Hibari whose natural state was somewhere below ‘unimpressed’. The last time Gokudera had seen him devoid of his usual calm they were banging each other on the bathroom floor.

"Nothing," Hibari didn't look at him. Instead he briskly strode out the door. "He smiles when he lies."


	4. Bullet Catch

Gokudera had no choice but to throw himself into harms way.

The Mercedes stopped only inches from him, leaving a short trail of black rubber on the concrete. Passers-by were observing the young man, standing in the middle of the street, holding up a sleek limousine with nothing but his willpower. Gokudera walked over to the driver's side window, leaning in when it was lowered, "Where the fuck are you going?"

Hibari stubbornly kept his eyes trained on the road, "To interrogate a suspect."

"You're going to see him, aren't you?" Gokudera gaped at his partner. "You know where he is? How the-"

Hibari snatched a blank envelope from the passenger seat, holding it out to him, "I found this on my desk."

Gokudera pulled out the singular paper that was neatly folded inside and read it with his mouth hanging wide open. There was an address on it, written by hand. Nothing else, but Hibari seemed to know exactly who it was from.

"He sent you this?" Gokudera waved the paper around, still not quite believing that a man who had supposedly committed every possible crime in the book would do this.

Hibari simply gave a nod; he glanced at his rear view mirror, "Are you getting in or not? You are blocking the traffic."

Gokudera didn't think long. He rushed over to the other side of the car and plumped awkwardly into the seat when Hibari sped off before he had properly closed the door.

"He really sent you this?" Gokudera repeated as soon as they were out of immediate danger of getting lynched.

"Yes."

"How do you know it's from Mukuro?" Gokudera turned the letter around, inspecting it from all angles.

"It's his handwriting." And if Gokudera hadn't known better he would have said that Hibari was squirming. But it was hard to tell since Hibari was yanking the wheel around like he wanted to dislodge it. Everyone on the street seemed to be his personal enemy right now. 

"Okay," Gokudera stuffed the letter away in his pocket for the time being. "Does this guy _want_ to get caught or what?"

Hibari remained suspiciously silent. This very specific type of non-communication was like the silence after the Big Bang - something had just happened, you just had to figure out what it was. Depending on your luck you might or might not end up staring at a black hole.

"What the hell is up with you and this guy?" Gokudera asked. He knew he was pushing it but he reckoned they were past the point in their relationship where tonfa posed a deadly threat. A permanently damaging one, perhaps, but not deadly.

"He used to be part of an old investigation. Nothing more." Hibari's lips were a thin line, an obvious indication that he was well capable of keeping them shut for the rest of his life if need be. But Gokudera had other plans.

"Yeah," he grumbled. "Last time you said that I got death threats, my sister went to jail, and I had to steal chemicals for drug dealers. Can we skip that part, please? It gets boring after a while."

Hibari shot him a bewildered glance, steering the car around a corner, "You never stole those chemicals. And all the death threats concerned your sister."

"Not the point, jerk," Gokudera huffed. "I just want to know what the fuck we're dealing with before it hits me in the face."

It took Hibari one red light and a rather disgruntled elderly woman on a pedestrian crossing to answer but he seemed to remember how determinedly Gokudera could walk down the path towards certain doom. Apparently, he felt like saving Gokudera the trouble, "Rokudo Mukuro has been escaping punishment for his crimes for too long. He is an insolent, manipulative bastard."

"What exactly makes him so different from you then?"

Admittedly, it was not the wisest thing to say but Gokudera couldn't stop himself. The car swerved to the right and halted with wailing tires, causing Gokudera's body to involuntarily test the quality of his seatbelt. Fortunately, Germans were really big on car safety.

Gokudera was still trying to catch his breath from the gurgled scream that was stuck in his throat when Hibari turned to face him. He was wearing an expression that was mostly seen on paintings of ancient gods shortly before they smote some nonbelievers. But Gokudera believed, alright.

"What?" He tried to inconspicuously edge towards the other side of his seat, "Don't tell me that description doesn't remind you of someone."

Hibari suddenly leaned over so that their noses were almost touching and short of toppling out of the door and onto the pavement there was no way out. Hibari's voice was like the sound you heard before something with particularly sharp teeth bit through your jugular. "He's a criminal and I will bring him down, that is all you need to know. I share nothing with him. And don't ever insult me again by assuming that I do."

Gokudera wondered briefly if the world required a new word for the kind of loathing that Hibari was radiating at the moment. Everything in existence seemed awfully meager by comparison. Either this Mukuro was a phenomenal asshole or he was holding a very powerful trump card against Hibari. Normally, the agent couldn't care less what anybody thought of his character but the association with Mukuro seemed to be worse than anything Gokudera had called him yet - and Gokudera had a wide range of insults.

"Alright. Calm the fuck down, will you?" Gokudera forcefully pushed the agent back. "Geez. You're acting like the son of a bitch stood you up on prom night or something."

Hibari sent another warning glare his way, "Get out."

"Why?" Gokudera said defiantly.

"Because we're there," Hibari got out of the car without losing another word.

Gokudera twisted around and, indeed, they were parked neatly in a spot directly in front of what appeared to be an antiques shop. He quietly cursed himself and scrambled out of his seat.

Hibari's way of parking was not only a vehicular form of sharpshooting but also a small miracle. He always got a spot right in front of where he wanted to go, no matter if parking was even allowed. Hibari's car had been towed only once, according to Kusakabe. He'd gotten it back a day later, spotlessly clean, with a new set of tires and an official letter of apology from the mayor.

Nobody had dared to give Hibari so much as a ticket ever since.

"Nice neighbourhood," Gokudera remarked when he inspected their surroundings with the trained look of a professional thief. He spotted a BVLGARI shop on the other side of the street, an Armani store right next to it; several exclusive-looking art galleries were nestled between businesses with well-known names that could barely be spelled without at least six zeros after the comma.

Hibari ignored it all. He purposefully strode up to the antiques shop, not even glancing twice at anything else.

"Not exactly the kind of neighbourhood I would be hiding in if I were a known criminal," Gokudera pointed out while catching the ornate glass door that Hibari swung in his face.

"He's not hiding," Hibari snarled as they stepped inside the air-conditioned halls of the shop.

 _'Pineapple Antiques'_ said the massive brass sign over the door and Gokudera would have chuckled derisively at the stupid name if he hadn't been busy staring at the accumulated representation of potential jail time. The room was full to the brink with furniture that had caused families to wage bloody wars, jewellery that had belonged to kings and queens. Chandeliers the size of Hibari's bed hung from the ceiling. Tiny tags dangled from all the items, sporting only a number - it was too short to be a price for anything in this place.

Gokudera felt like a kid in a candy store. Shit. He could have saved himself a lot of time and trouble if he'd just broken into Mukuro's shop. He strolled over to a glass showcase, displaying jewellery that people would have given their right arm for. Some former bearers probably had.

He leaned down and squinted at a clear, brightly twinkling stone that was attached to an otherwise plain chain. It was a diamond shaped like a tear and Gokudera couldn't shake the feeling that it did not belong here - regardless of its pricey neighbours.

"Hey," Gokudera tapped the glass, simply assuming that Hibari was listening. "You know what this looks like?"

Hibari appeared beside him. He raised an eyebrow.

"Like the Millennium Star," Gokudera grinned. Hibari's eyebrow firmly remained in place.

"It used to be part of the De Beers diamond collection," Gokudera explained, leaning casually against an Art Decó table next to the showcase. "Thing is: it shouldn't be here."

"Did Mukuro steal it?" Hibari was all for the idea.

Gokudera shook his head no, smirking, "No. I did."

For a second Hibari looked vaguely disappointed but he knew better than to question Gokudera when it came to heists he'd pulled. This one happened to be one he was especially proud of. It hadn't been easy after a crew of imbeciles had fucked up a pretty reckless attempt at the last exhibition of the stone.

"Could this be a replica?" Hibari gestured at the gem.

"I would have to take a closer look, of course," Gokudera shrugged. "But it looks like the real thing."

"Hm," that was all Hibari said as he examined the diamond through the glass. If his gaze had been just a little sharper it would have cut the case in half.

"Excuse me, can I help you?" A voice so tiny it barely rose above the level of noise of the AC wafted over to them. It caused both of them to spin around and stare at the young woman, who was standing amidst the conglomeration of at least six generations of gaudiness. She was pretty, if one disregarded the eye-patch and the stylistic accident that was her haircut. She seemed horribly shy though, which was not a fortunate attitude when faced with someone like Hibari.

"I am special agent Hibari Kyouya. I'm here to-"

"Ah," the girl lit up ever so lightly. "You are here to see Mukuro-sama? He's been expecting you. Please follow me."

She turned towards a broad staircase at the back of the shop, beckoning them to come along. They exchanged a look, upon which Gokudera could only shrug, "He did send you a note."

They headed upstairs with her, tagging along like some ill-placed bodyguards. She led them through a long corridor that looked as if it had been imported straight from a 60's civil war epic. With every step they took towards the heavy oak doors at the other end Hibari's mood darkened.

"Please," the girl bowed slightly as the doors quietly swung open. They revealed an airy room about the size of a small castle. The distance between the entrance and the massive desk was greater than Gokudera's entire FBI-approved radius. Good thing he was with Hibari, otherwise he wasn't sure if he'd been allowed to set foot into the room.

"Kyouya," Mukuro looked up from whatever he'd been pouring over on his desk and smiled. "How nice of you to visit."

Gokudera wanted to puke. Given Hibari's reaction to even the slightest hint of Mukuro's name he had already suspected the man to be a nasty piece of work but he surpassed Gokudera's worst assumptions. He was tall, possibly even taller than Hibari; everything about him was refined, from the way he moved to the way his fingers danced over the smooth wood of his desk in passing. His long ponytail swayed behind his back like a snake when he walked.

Under normal circumstances Gokudera would have called Mukuro handsome, no doubt. He was beautiful in the way a perfectly sharpened knife was - until it stuck in your chest. Or, judging by what he knew about Mukuro: in your back.

"Don't address me like that," Hibari growled. Even Gokudera took a small step to the side as a precaution. But Mukuro only kept on smiling his beguiling smile that had 'decoy' written all over it.

"Oh Kyouya, don't be like that," Mukuro held out his hand in greeting but when Hibari refused to respond in kind he shrugged and leaned forward a little, winking. "We have such a long and interesting history. We've both earned it, don't you think?"

Hibari shifted; it was subtle but Gokudera knew what it was. He glanced down and with a certain amount of dread noticed the sleek form of the tonfa slipping into Hibari's hands.

"You may want to rethink that. He's not kidding," Gokudera suggested. He might not have liked Mukuro but being the main witness in a murder case was not among his plans for today.

Mukuro regarded him as if he'd only just realised that there was someone else in the room. His smile grew wider and Gokudera bristled at the open disdain in it, "And what's this? Your new lapdog?" He stepped up to Gokudera, almost whispering, "Sorry. Dogs are not allowed in here."

"What?" Gokudera gasped. That cocky fucking bastard! Who the hell did he think he was?

"Say that again, motherfucker, and I'll rip your throat out with my bare hands," Gokudera hissed, his fists ready to strike. But he never got the chance.

Mukuro gave a clipped laugh and swung around on his heels, slowly wandering back to his desk, "The dog barks, Kyouya. Either you put him on a leash or I'll have to ask you to leave him outside."

"I'll show you, you f-," he wanted to go after Mukuro, twist his scrawny little neck until it snapped but Hibari's arm shot out, holding him back.

"Wait outside," Hibari was not looking at him but instead fixed the flamboyant antiques dealer with a stare that could have melted the polar caps. Mukuro was back behind his desk, smirking.

"What the fuck?" Gokudera gestured heatedly. "Did you not hear what he just called me?"

"I did," Hibari insisted. "Leave."

"The hell I will!" Gokudera yelled, trying to push past his partner but Hibari flung him around in one swift move, shoving him up against the closed doors. Funny, he hadn't even noticed the girl leaving.

"Ow! Let go of me, you bloody freak!" Gokudera struggled but Hibari's grip was fueled by something that might have been hatred long ago when people had still painted on rocks. It had been distilled over time into something that was pure and acrid enough to eat through layers of personality even Gokudera wasn't sure he wanted to see.

"Go," Hibari said, teeth gritted in an attempt to keep some of his composure. He dragged Gokudera aside and practically tossed him out into the corridor.

"Hey! You can't-," But the door fell shut before he was even done stumbling to a halt.

He gaped dumbly at the dark wood with its annoyingly intricate carvings, not certain if he was awake or dreaming. He tried the door handle, just to satisfy his own curiosity. It was locked.

"Goddamned bastards, both of you!" He screamed at the top his voice, hoping that it would penetrate several inches of wood and make their heads explode. When this didn't happen he turned around and looked around the corridor, a bit forlorn. There were only two other doors. The first one was probably some sort of emergency exit, since its appearance didn't match the design of the rest of the hallway.

He gave the second one a tentative prod. It opened and the room behind it turned out to be a vast bathroom. It had a tub, a separate shower, toilet, two basins even. Gokudera wondered what Mukuro would need a full-blown bathroom for at his office, but it might have come with the premises.

He stepped further inside, inspecting every corner. He didn't really know why. Maybe he was just trying to occupy himself. He didn’t want to risk running into the girl downstairs and having to shamefully admit that he had been thrown out like a rabid dog.

His gaze fell upon a ventilation grille above the toilet seat. It looked big enough for a man of, say, his stature to fit through. He told himself he was only noting it due to years of training and that it had absolutely nothing to do with wanting to hear what was going on inside that office.

In theory he couldn't even be sure if the ventilation shaft did indeed lead past Mukuro's office. In reality, he was already discarding his jacket and rolling up his sleeves.

He stepped onto the toilet, experimentally joggling the grille. The screws in each corner were standard size and one of them was already beginning to come loose anyway. The way he saw it he was doing them a favour. He would make sure to secure the grille properly once he was done.

Gokudera pulled a small Swiss Army knife from his pocket. Technically, he wasn't supposed to have it but _technically_ , Hibari should have been carrying a gun like every other FBI agent. Unusual circumstances called for unusual actions. Sometimes they included crawling through a ventilation duct to eavesdrop on a conversation you had officially been uninvited from.

He made quick work of the grille and placed it on the ground, peering into the gaping hole. Too bad his knife didn't come with a flashlight. On the other hand, there was really nowhere else to go but forward.

Gokudera dropped his shoes and scrambled up into the ventilation shaft, wincing when his elbows connected painfully with the metal lining. He wriggled through the semi-dark tunnel until he could hear the faint sound of voices. He squinted ahead and saw a blotch of light filtering in through another grille.

He inched towards the pool of light and smiled triumphantly when he could clearly see Mukuro through the grid. He couldn't make out Hibari from his point of view but he supposed that was a good thing.

"... come in here accusing me of crimes I have never even heard of," Mukuro was saying. He appeared to be more amused than annoyed.

"Are you done lying, 悪魔?"

Gokudera frowned. Despite all his fondness for Japanese culture and his obvious heritage Hibari rarely spoke in his mother tongue. He had to be pretty effing pissed if he resorted to insulting people in Japanese. Gokudera assumed it was an insult. His Japanese was rusty, at best. He could call Yamamoto an idiot in it but that was about it.

Whatever the word was, it didn't seem to have the desired effect on Mukuro. The man laughed, " _Devil?_ Really? That is all you've got? I would have expected more imagination from someone like you. Your new pet was more creative in name-calling than that."

Gokudera's hands balled into fists. He tried hard not to burst out of his hiding place and beat Mukuro to death with the grille.

"Leave him out of it. This is between you and me."

"Oh, how galant of you," Mukuro snickered. "So protective. I never knew this side of you."

"Stop dicking around," Hibari was fed up with Mukuro's baiting. "I want to see your vault, your storage facilities, and warehouses."

"What for, I wonder?"

"You stole those parts from the museum and I'll find them."

Mukuro sat down and effectively disappeared from Gokudera's line of sight. His tone of voice suggested that he was still wearing that unnerving, everlasting smile, "You will have a hard time finding something that isn't there. You're chasing ghosts, Kyouya."

"I said don't. Call me. That." Gokudera could _hear_ the fullstops clicking into place like locks on a cell door.

"What else should I call you, pray tell?"

"My name is special agent Hibari Kyouya, you thieving scumbag," Hibari came into view as he leaned both hands onto Mukuro's desk.

"Your mother named you _'special agent'_? That's odd."

"Stop it," Hibari sounded as if ending his career by bashing Mukuro's head in was actually worth considering. "I'm not interested in your meaningless bickering."

"That's a shame," Mukuro slowly rose to his feet, also putting his hands flat on the table so that both men were staring straight into each other's eyes. "But if I can't interest you in anything else I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Gokudera could barely make out what was being said next but he didn't have to. He knew the words by heart.

"I will bite you to death for this."

"Careful, Kyouya, you might lose a few teeth if you try." Gokudera was taken by surprise at how menacing Mukuro suddenly appeared. If this was a glimpse of the man he was when the smiles were gone then they were in deep shit.

"Next time we see each other I will have a warrant and you will be whining for mercy on your knees."

Mukuro waved it off, his mysteriously knowing smirk back on his face as if nothing had ever happened, "If you say so. Now, if you please, I have work to do. As do you, I am sure."

For one horrible second Gokudera thought that Hibari was going to forego all warrants and legal implications and just beat Mukuro to a bloody pulp for the sheer fun of it. But he reconsidered and simply spun around, heading for the door.

"Oh, and Kyouya? Make sure you take your little puppy with you. I don't want him to get dust allergies up there in the ventilation."

Gokudera's forehead made a noisy bump when it connected with the metal ground beneath him. So much for eavesdropping.

He scrambled backwards as fast as he could, disregarding the ventilation grille in the bathroom entirely. He jumped off the toilet seat and grabbed his jacket and shoes, hurrying out of the room. When he yanked the door open he was immediately faced with Hibari.

Gokudera tried to explain, waving his shoes around in one hand and his jacket in the other, "It's not what it looks like. Okay. Maybe it's a little what it looks like. I just didn't like the idea of you and him being alone in th-"

"Car," Hibari said. Nothing else; but the range of consequences this single word entailed was colourful enough to prompt Gokudera to move as quickly as possible.

Hibari marched off and out of the shop, never caring if Gokudera was hopping on one leg to put on his shoes or not. He fell into rather than sat down in the passenger seat.

Hibari didn't start the car, merely sat there in silence for a few minutes. Gokudera took the opportunity to finish tying his left shoe. When he came back up they were still not on their way.

"Alright...," he said, more to fill the huge bubble of verbal vacuum than as an actual request for information, "What do we do now?"

Hibari didn't respond right away. When he did he kept staring straight ahead, "How certain are you about this diamond?"

"Huh?" Gokudera was half-way done wrestling into his jacket, "What do mean? If it's the real one?"

"Yes."

"Hard to say without proper testing but it seems legit."

"When did you steal it?"

Gokudera scowled, "Why is this turning into an interrogation?"

"Because if you stole it and he has it he is dealing with stolen goods."

Gokudera brightened up a bit, presenting Hibari with an approving grin, "And that would give us enough reason to get a warrant."

"Only if it's the real one," Hibari reminded, finally pushing the button that let the engine hum to life, "And you would have to admit to the initial crime, of course."

The grin was wiped from his face, "Would that add to my sentence?"

A tiny smirk tugged at the edges of Hibari's lips, "Would you like it to?"

"Is that an offer or a threat?"

The noticeable twinkle in Hibari's eyes said _'Both.'_

"Oh fuck it," Gokudera sighed. "Whatever. I'll admit to stealing the freaking Hope Diamond if it helps to put this fucker behind bars."

"Good."


	5. Cups And Balls

They broke the bedstead that night. And one of the doors of the bedroom closet.

Gokudera couldn't quite decide if it was better or worse having sex with Hibari when he was angry but it was definitely a unique experience. He couldn't deny that they were both not impartial to pain but Gokudera's body didn't always agree. He just dreaded the morning after - and the greater part of the day, for that matter. There were muscles in his body that ached which he hadn't even known he possessed. And he was pretty sure he was going to have a permanent impression of the closet handle on his back.

In all honesty though, it was a little scary. Hibari was a force of nature even when he was feeling neutral. But when his mental landscape was flooded with unparalleled rage he became somewhat of a pipe bomb. He was doing his best to keep in control but eventually all that power had to go somewhere.

Which did not mean that it was entirely unpleasant. Gokudera was not masochistic enough to let himself get manhandled without eliciting enough pleasure from it to keep going for _hours_. But he could have really done without the constant prickling sensation in his ass whenever he sat down.

Especially, when Rokudo fucking Mukuro was giving him a look that was part sympathy and part malicious satisfaction. The bloody bastard _knew_. And Gokudera did not like the conclusions he was drawing from this at all.

They had arrived at Mukuro's shop first thing the next morning with Hibari shoving a fresh warrant under his adversary's nose. They should have known that it was pointless - not with the way Mukuro continued to stand by and smile as dozens of FBI henchmen trampled all over his store.

It was half past three in the afternoon by now and they still hadn't found a single trace of anything even remotely illegal. Hell, even Mukuro's _books_ were perfectly fine. Gokudera had checked.

The most aggravating thing was that he even had proper papers for the diamond. In fact, he had papers for every item in his shop. They were signed, stamped and annoyingly legitimate. And above all they were still lacking any proof for the existence of a printing press in Mukuro's possession.

"Please," Mukuro was saying, his chin propped up on his palm as he lounged around in a plush armchair that had supposedly belonged to Churchill once. "This is embarrassing, even for you, Kyouya."

"Don't call me that," Hibari repeated for the umpteenth time as if on autopilot.

Mukuro heaved a sigh, "What would I even do with a printing press of all things? This is an antiques store, not a repair shop."

There were other people present as well. Apparently, Mukuro had 'employees' too. One was scrawny with glasses and something Gokudera liked to call 'egg warmers' on his head and the other looked like a mixed breed between Gene Simmons and a Finnish Spitz. The latter was snickering.

The only one missing was the girl from the day before. According to Mukuro she was 'making deliveries' which Gokudera wouldn't even have bought if he'd been paid for it.

"Are these all of your warehouses?" Hibari flung a bunch of papers into Mukuro's lap.

Mukuro lazily flipped through the pages, making quite a show of not bothering to read any of it, "I believe so. Well done, special agent."

"You're lying," Hibari constituted in a way that made it clear that no amount of arguing would convince him otherwise.

"I'm confused," Mukuro gingerly put the documents aside. "Is it common policy at the FBI to go around accusing people of being liars?"

"Only if it's true," Gokudera interjected, despite himself. Mukuro was grating on his nerves. He was like the family of mice living in your walls that kept you up until the wee hours of morning, rendering all your efforts to catch and kill them unsuccessful.

Mukuro’s gaze travelled to Gokudera, like someone who was finally giving into the cat's wailing to let it inside, "And you would know that how exactly?"

Gokudera stood up and planted himself right in front of Mukuro, pointing at the large diamond now laying on the counter for inspection, "The only thing real in here is this fucking piece of jewellery and you damned well know it."

Mukuro arched one eyebrow. It was disturbingly similar to the way Hibari tended to look when he thought someone was talking bullshit, "I'm sorry, have I not just shown you all the corresponding paperwork? I agree that this is the real Millennium Star. I had it certified by several experts. So, I'm a bit perplexed that you think this is somehow news to me."

"I stole it in 2002, you prick!" Gokudera exclaimed, causing various FBI agents to turn around and stare. "There is no way in hell you could have the actual Millennium Star. They've had a replica on display for _years_."

Mukuro was quiet for a moment, then his eyes darted back to Hibari, "Correct me if I'm wrong but shouldn't you be arresting him? He just confessed to grand theft."

"That's why we are here," Hibari persisted.

"And you would rather believe your little mongrel than a hard-working businessman?"

Gokudera was about to tell Mukuro where he could stick his hard-working whatever when Hibari walked up to the chair and leaned down, offering a grim smile, "Dogs are very good at smelling bullshit. And you reek of it."

"Okay, anyone in here _not_ wanting to jump on the bandwagon of referring to me as a freaking flea carpet?" Gokudera complained, throwing his arms up in exasperation. He might as well have talked to a wall. At least the wall didn't ignore you quite as aggressively as these two did.

"Are you done here?" Mukuro's smile was still plastered on his face like wallpaper but it had lost a lot of its former superiority. Gokudera would have been lying if he said he didn't take delight in that.

"I would like to get some semblance of order back into my shop after your minions have treated it like their personal playground."

"Trying to hide something?" Hibari straightened up, allowing Mukuro enough space to get up.

The cocky bastard actually had the guts to smirk, "The only thing I am hiding from you at the moment is my underwear but feel free to check that as well."

Something in Gokudera's stomach was attempting to crawl up his throat and it tasted a hell of a lot like genuine disgust.

Hibari seemed to feel similar. He made a face that indicated he would have rather swallowed live squid than go anywhere near Mukuro's pants, "We will be searching your warehouses next. Don't leave town."

"Why would I?" Mukuro grinned. "You're here, aren't you?"

Gokudera rolled his eyes. This guy was unbelievable. His way of blatantly hitting on Hibari was bad enough but what was even more worrying was that Hibari hadn’t punched him yet. He would have loved to see Hibari's physical response to Mukuro's insinuations but no such luck today.

"You won't get away this time," Hibari promised in his typical low growl when he meant business.

"I wonder where I've heard that before," Mukuro sauntered over to the counter, beginning to put the assorted gemstones back where they belonged.

Hibari made a sound that most people associated with large, fanged animals. He whirled around, stalking towards the exit, indicating that the show was over.

They were stopped by one of Mukuro's casual throwaway lines, "Oh, before I forget. I would be watching my back if I were you."

Both Hibari and Gokudera turned around, Hibari’s eyes narrowing, "Are you threatening me?"

Mukuro laughed, "Quite the contrary, in fact. It's a friendly word of advice. Surely, you must have heard?"

Two sets of eyebrows arched in question but only Gokudera said it out loud, "Heard what?"

Mukuro briefly looked up and his smile sent chills down Gokudera's spine, "There's a price on your heads."

It took Gokudera a moment to pick up on the detail that bugged him, "Wait. _Heads_? As in _plural_?"

"Indeed."

"What for?" Gokudera gaped. He'd done some bad things in his lifetime but he doubted any of it had been so horrendous that it warranted a death penalty.

Mukuro was not the type to giggle but Gokudera wouldn't have put it past him to do it just to spite them, "Xanxus. I believe you know him? I heard you had a bit of a dispute with him last year."

Okay, that might have qualified. But, _damn_ , he'd had no idea that Xanxus was still holding such a grudge. Of course, the fact that they had landed his ass in prison might have added to his already impressive stream of anger.

"Where did you get this information?" Hibari demanded.

Mukuro gave a shrug, "I hear a lot of things because I know a lot of people. I can't possibly remember everything."

"Why are you telling me this?" There was a hint of confusion in Hibari's voice, as if he couldn't find a reason why Mukuro would be willing to share such vital information.

"I don't know," the ambiguous grin was back on Mukuro's lips with a vengeance. "Maybe I just enjoy being the only concern in your life."

Gokudera's stomach made another uncomfortable flip as he leaned closer to Hibari, whispering, "You know, I can look the other way in case you want to bang his head against the counter or something. Nobody would stop you."

"Kyouya, please, would you be so kind as to take your talking appendix outside? He's offending my... well, actually he's just offending."

"Fuck you," was all Gokudera had to say to that.

"Thank you, but no," Mukuro didn't even have the decency to look at them when he waved them goodbye. "Have a good day, gentlemen."

Hibari pulled Gokudera outside before he could take aim and jump over the counter to put his fist into Mukuro’s face.

\---

Myriads of obedient FBI flies descended upon Mukuro's storage facilities on the same afternoon. Hours later they were still only circling a gigantic, stinking pile of nothing.

"And it doesn't bother you at all that we've basically been running around with a giant bullseye on our backs the whole time?" Gokudera asked while they were standing outside, watching Hibari's minions bustle in and out of the building.

"If somebody had wanted to kill us you'd be dead already," Hibari ascertained.

"Oh," Gokudera huffed. "And you're invincible or what?"

"Nobody is invincible," Hibari said matter-of-factly. "Some people are just harder to kill than others."

"Your ego is astounding. How does it fit in one suit with you?"

Hibari shot him a wordless glance that made it evident he was not following but was even less interested in continuing this conversation.

Contrary to Hibari, Gokudera did worry. Call him overly cautious, but he didn't feel very comfortable with a bunch of professional killers on his heels. He slept better when he knew that there was nobody out for his blood. But to Hibari the only important task right now was to bring Mukuro down, no matter the cost. As far as he was concerned death was something that happened to other people.

"For the record, _I am right_ about this diamond," Gokudera spoke more or less for the sake of keeping himself from checking the surrounding rooftops every five seconds. He wasn't nervous as such. He just really preferred not to be shot in the head by random snipers.

"I know."

"He has to have forged all these papers. Or blackmail. He looks like the blackmailing type," Gokudera mused, failing to notice the thoughtful frown that was forming on Hibari's face.

"Why did you steal it?" Hibari suddenly inquired.

"What?"

"Why did you steal the diamond in the first place?"

Gokudera shrugged, "Somebody wanted it and so they hired me."

"How?"

"How what?"

"How did they hire you?"

There were certain aspects of the trade that were meant to stay secret. One of these things was how a thief got his gigs. In contrast to common belief someone like Gokudera couldn't simply waltz across the country taking whatever he thought was shiny. Well, he _could_ , but that didn't pay his rent, bought him clothes or put food on his table.

Everyone had their own way of getting in touch with potential clients. Some preferred to do it solo, others relied on the anonymity of the internet. Gokudera had Shamal. And Shamal preferred not to get in contact with the FBI.

"Through a friend," Gokudera said carefully.

"That useless doctor of yours?"

Gokudera winced. He had hoped that, for once, Hibari would be a horrible detective.

"Yes," he answered eventually, through gritted teeth.

"And has the idiot doctor ever met the buyer in person?"

"I don't think so. That would completely defeat the purpose of-," Gokudera's train of thought derailed in the face of dawning comprehension. "You don't mean to say that _he_...? You think _Mukuro_ hired me to steal the diamond?"

Hibari looked at him like someone comparing blueprints with the actual building and noting with increasing displeasure that it was upside-down.

"That fucking bastard," Gokudera wanted to hit something; Mukuro's face, for example.

"I'm sure he appreciates the irony."

"He'll appreciate my foot in his ass next time I see him," Gokudera grumbled. Kusakabe came rushing towards them at this point, looking a bit like the kind of stuff a plumber might flush out of clogged pipes. He shook his head when he stood to attention in front of Hibari, "I'm afraid we were unable to find anything relevant to the case, Kyo-san."

Gokudera's entire being slumped together like a ten-year-old’s clay volcano. It shouldn't have come as a surprise but as they said: hope died last. Their's had basically just been struck down by an 18-wheeler. And Mukuro was driving it back and forth over the squashed remains.

Hibari didn't answer and Kusakabe looked even guiltier for not producing tangible results. Gokudera pitied the man sometimes. It wasn't easy being Hibari's right-hand man. Hell, it was even more difficult being his _lover_ but obviously they both suffered from a certain masochistic disposition.

The sad thing was, neither of them were able to quit. And Gokudera wasn't even talking about the legal part of his sentence.

"It would have surprised me if you had," Gokudera said, giving Kusakabe a sympathetic nudge to the shoulder. Kusakabe offered him a thankful smile but save for Hibari telling him it was alright nothing could really cheer him up.

Gokudera suspected the only thing that could have improved Hibari's mood would have been if Mukuro had dropped dead on the spot, preferably writhing in painful agony beforehand. But since this was apparently not happening, Hibari simply turned around and marched off to his car, leaving them staring at his backside.

"Let him go," Kusakabe said, putting one hand on Gokudera's arm. "It might be best to leave him alone for a while."

Gokudera shook his arm free, irritated.

"I'll take you home. Just...," Kusakabe seemed to fight an internal battle. "I think there is something you need to see first."

"What," Gokudera scowled, watching the Mercedes drive off into the night that was already hours old. "More uncanny acquaintances from his past?"

Kusakabe smiled like one of those kindergarten teachers who knew that sometimes kids needed to learn by trial and error, "None that you are not aware of yet."

He beckoned Gokudera towards his own car, which was significantly less flashy than Hibari's. It spoke of a man who knew his place and took pride in it. The last car Gokudera had, well, not _owned_ , but driven nonetheless had been a Ferrari. He'd totaled it in an attempt to overtake an ICE in Germany. He wondered what that said about his place in life.

"Am I going to want to kill someone after this?" Gokudera asked as he flopped down in the passenger seat.

"Unlikely," Kusakabe reversed and manoeuvred the car out of the road between the warehouses. "You might try, but I doubt you'll be successful. No offence."

Gokudera snorted and slid lower so that his eyes were almost level with the dashboard. It was uncomfortable but he refused to reposition himself according to the space available. It would have meant admitting that Hibari's car was more comfortable. It would have meant allowing himself to think that anything involving Hibari was easier than it was without him.


	6. Healed and Sealed

Gokudera observed the ring binder that was put on the conference table in front of him. He'd been doing so for the better part of five minutes without actually touching it.

Kusakabe had left with a quiet _'Perhaps it will make you understand better.'_ after fetching the massive file from Hibari's personal cabinet. Until now Gokudera hadn't even been aware of anyone else having access to it. Well, it figured - Kusakabe was the FBI equivalent of an access-all-areas pass. Somebody had to put the extra flowers in the rockstar's room, right?

Gokudera should have been thrilled to get his hands on some supplementary information but somehow he feared that he was not going to like it. It felt like reaching the end of the galaxy and finding that there was only more space out there.

The label of the file was in Japanese but Gokudera had a nagging suspicion who it was about. There were only so many people Hibari would keep a personalised file on.

He heaved a resigned sigh and finally tugged the heavy binder closer. The hoops were groaning under the strain of too many pages when Gokudera opened it.

Hibari was a neat person; everything was always categorised, even if it was just things like 'Carnivore' and 'Everyone else'. It made dealing with him both easy and incredibly difficult. The difficult part was finding out what category _you_ fit into.

Gokudera turned page after page, each set of documents carefully combined into something almost like chapters, ordered chronologically. Neat, immaculate, and horribly sad.

He was looking at a man's life, dissected into compartments with Hibari's accurate little notes beside it. This was not a life-long obsession - mainly because Hibari hadn't had a lifetime to chase after Mukuro yet. But the only difference between this and what Gokudera was looking at was the time span. Hibari always went the whole ten yards and if he only had half the time he simply did it twice as fast.

Gokudera flipped through the first section, that seemed to consist solely of birth certificates. None of them stated the name Rokudo Mukuro but somehow Hibari appeared to be convinced that they all belonged to the same man.

There were copies of passports with pictures of people who might or might not have been Mukuro in disguise. Gokudera counted twelve, three of them showing someone of the female persuasion.

He read through dozens of police reports, Interpol incident descriptions, witness statements and FBI documents. Some had bad stills from traffic cameras attached to them, or blurry pictures of a nondescript face pulled off someone's digital camera. To the naked eye most of it seemed random and disjointed but Hibari had a way of looking at things differently. It brought out the thin threads of connection. Like looking at spiderwebs - from a distance it was just a couple of fragile fibres, barely enough to hold it all together but once you got closer you started noticing all the small, seemingly insignificant links. They were what made you walk into it and get stuck.

But Hibari wasn't stuck; he was slowly, deliberately cutting all the wires until he'd found the one that would lead him to Mukuro. There were just a whole lot of them.

Gokudera couldn't help but be in awe of the sheer amount of information Hibari had gathered that nobody had bothered to spare a second glance at. All he was missing was the centerpiece of catching Mukuro in the act. A person had to be really fucking dedicated to compile such a case file.

The thought sent an uneasy shiver down Gokudera's spine. He wondered if Hibari had a file like this on him as well. He wondered if he _wanted_ Hibari to have one.

He combed through another section and stopped at something that looked like a letter. It had a lily embossed in the lower right corner. No signature but Gokudera had seen the loathsomely vibrant handwriting before.

He read the letter.

Then he plucked it out of the binder and read it again, his fingers leaving ugly sweaty imprints on the thin clear file it was archived in. His frown turned into a scowl and then into something that people wore when they contemplated starting a war. His lips were numb from being pressed together so tightly.

Until now he had merely considered Mukuro a pompous arse who thought a bit of needlessly open flirting would get him into Hibari's pants and out of his investigation. He could have dealt with that. But this letter, this whole goddamned file spoke an entirely different language. It seemed like Mukuro _had already been there_ , pants and everything.

Gokudera didn't know why he cared; or why his heart suddenly felt like a sinking oil tanker, oozing toxic waste all over his system. It shouldn't have bothered him. It had probably been a long time ago. Also, it was Hibari's problem who he jumped into bed with. But the thing was...

The thing was _he_ was in Hibari's bed and in his pants and pretty much everywhere else too. This insufferable spawn of a tropical fruit and a slithering reptile had neither reason nor the right to poke his nose or any other part of his anatomy into their life. Not if Gokudera had a say in it. And he believed that he did.

He didn't put the letter back. He stuffed it into his pocket, and snapped the tome shut.

"It was very enlightening," Gokudera snarled as he dropped the folder on Kusakabe's desk in passing. "Put that back, will you?"

"Wait, where are you g-," the rest of Kusakabe's objections were drowned out by the anger rushing through Gokudera's veins like poison.

\---

There was light coming from the kitchen when Gokudera entered. He could hear the low tingle of delicate tea cups being shoved around on a stone counter. Hibari was making tea. It was an obvious sign that he was agitated. Not that he wasn't preparing tea on other occasions as well but when he was pissed he made a _show_ of it.

Hibari briefly looked up when Gokudera sauntered in, his stride only casual at first glance. Upon further inspection Hibari would have noticed that Gokudera was holding a laminated piece of paper, fingers rigid around it like he was holding a gun.

He tossed the letter on the counter like ancient messengers of war would drop the heads of former adversaries in front of a defiant king's feet, "Do you fuck all your prime suspects?"

Gokudera had the greatest trouble keeping his voice level. He was trembling with so many emotions that it was hard to pick just one.

Hibari, on the other hand, was unimpressed. He merely glanced at the paper and then frowned, "You broke into my file cabinet?"

"Fuck your file cabinet!" Gokudera yelled despite his best efforts not to. "Answer the question!"

Hibari's glare intensified, "No."

"Only a selected few or what?" Gokudera picked up the document and started waving it around as if it was a photograph of them _in flagrante_.

"No," Hibari snatched the paper from him and smoothed it out on the counter.

"You're telling me you never slept with Mukuro," Gokudera didn't even care to raise his voice for the question that it should have been.

"Yes."

"Then how the fuck does a letter like this happen?" Gokudera seized the incriminating evidence and started pointing out especially offending lines. " _'Fond memories of our shared nights '_? _'Moon light on your face'_? _'Strawberry flavoured condoms'_? Seriously? Strawberry?"

Hibari chose to ignore all the angry teasing and instead went straight for the underlying problem, "Why does this bother you so much?"

Gokudera threw the letter back into Hibari's face which would have been so much more impressive if it hadn't floated to the ground between them in the most ineffective way possible. But his bubbling rage made up for the lack of dramatic gestures, "Why does it bug me? I'll tell you why, asshole. Your freaky obsession with this peacock is oozing out of your every pore and it's making life fucking difficult for everyone else, that's why!"

"Everyone?" Hibari arched one eyebrow. "Or just you?"

"Don't you dare make this about me," Gokudera gnashed his teeth together, mostly in an effort to keep himself from spilling what was really on his mind. It was true, Hibari's twisted infatuation with Mukuro was rubbing Gokudera in all the wrong ways. From what he had been able to gather Mukuro was the kind of person who sidled into people's lives like a colourless gas, until there was nothing left but dead bodies. Right now, Gokudera was simply trying not to choke to death.

"You're the one who's jealous," Hibari deadpanned. And he was right. But Gokudera had a way of not acknowledging things that couldn't be explained by books and schematics.

"I'm not."

Hibari didn't even grace him with an answer; he only gave Gokudera a meaningful look that dared him to repeat his statement and mean it.

Gokudera threw his hands up, gesticulating wildly, "Alright, what the hell do you want me to say? Huh? That I'm fucking pissed? You got it. I'm pissed, okay?"

The way in which Hibari's eyebrows were drawn together indicated that he was still having trouble seeing Gokudera's point. So, Gokudera explained - in as many words and as loudly as he could, "What? You want me to tell you that for the first time in my fucking life I was feeling a tiny bit special? Is that it? Well, I did. There, I said it. You happy now, you fucking prick?"

The good thing was, Hibari's eyebrows were not trying out for a limbo competition anymore. The downside was that he was now looking at Gokudera like a botanist who had just discovered a new species.

"I can't believe I just said that out loud," Gokudera closed his eyes and rubbed a hand over his face, either in an attempt to hide or to check if his cheeks were on fire. All the anger had suddenly transformed into a distinctly ugly form of shame. He hated when that happened. He got freaking _honest_ when he snapped.

When he glanced back up Hibari was wearing the kind of smile that usually preluded him saying something terribly amazing and undeniably true.

"Will you stop looking at me like that?" Gokudera studied the empty space to his right, fidgeting.

Obviously, Hibari didn't give a damn about Gokudera's wishes. He closed the distance between them in swift strides, backing Gokudera up against the wall. Great, now he was staring from barely an inch away.

"Get off of me," Gokudera murmured but he had blown off all his steam in his accidental self-revelation. He squirmed between Hibari's arms, each planted firmly on either side of his head.

Hibari didn't budge, of course. On the contrary, he leaned in so that his lips were level with Gokudera's ear, "You're here. He's not. Do you really think it gets any more special than this?"

Gokudera swallowed; he wasn't sure he was thinking anything at all at the moment. He felt Hibari shift against him, his breath warm against Gokudera’s cheek. This was the trouble with Hibari - sometimes he was more solid than he had any right to be in a three-dimensional world. And when every multidimensional inch was pressing down on you you couldn't help but wonder how someone like this could possibly be interested in you.

Hibari's lips left an intentional trail of warmth along Gokudera's jawline as he stepped back. His eyes narrowed for an instant, as if he was trying to predict what Gokudera would do. When Gokudera only kept gaping at him with a strange, keening noise stuck in his throat Hibari nodded, "Read the letter again. But don't read the words."

And then he moved out of Gokudera's personal space like the tide, leaving Gokudera bare and longing. He watched Hibari retreat upstairs and rolled his eyes in annoyance, "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

But Hibari didn't answer.

"You forgot your fucking tea, jerk," Gokudera yelled, more or less just to have the last word.

"It's for you," came the reply, muffled by the bedroom door.

"Damn," Gokudera cursed quietly. He eyed the letter that was still lying on the floor. He snatched it up and slumped down on the couch to reread this insult to modern literature. He didn't touch the tea. He had certain principles after all.

\---

The mattress dipped under his weight when he sat down beside Hibari. He hadn't fallen asleep yet. Gokudera could tell because he didn't have a fist in his face.

He had reread Mukuro's letter - three times, in fact - and he had reached the following conclusion: Mukuro was an ass, but even though that made him a suitable mate for Hibari the only thing that had probably happened until now were Mukuro's wet dreams.

What Hibari had meant was that it wasn't about the words Mukuro used but the ones that he didn't. Mainly because he had no grounds to. Sure, he insinuated, hinted and spread doubt but he never actually _mentioned_ ever having more physical contact with Hibari than a punch to the gut. And if there was one thing Mukuro certainly liked to do it was rubbing it in your face. But he obviously lacked material.

"You're sorry," Hibari mumbled, his face half-hidden by the pillow. It wasn't a question.

Gokudera sighed heavily, "Look, I wanted to s-"

Hibari was suddenly up and kissing him before he could even finish the thought. Hibari held him lightly by the chin when they parted, "Don't. Apologies make you seem weak."

Gokudera blinked, "Uhm... okay?"

Hibari gave a nod, "Now get to bed." He slid back under the covers while Gokudera continued to stare off into the darkness of their bedroom.

"Yes, _mom_ ," Gokudera mocked.

Hibari's foot connected with his hip, leaving a vaguely heel-shaped bruise.


	7. Dagger Head Box

"What's this?" Gokudera hesitantly poked the small package lying on his desk. Might have been a bomb. He wasn't sure he was popular enough for gifts.

"It came this morning. It was addressed specifically to you," Kusakabe walked over to peer at the box, wrapped in non-descript brown paper. "Should I dispose of it?"

Gokudera rubbed his chin, "Nah. Might be important."

"Might be a bomb."

Gokudera rolled his eyes. He hated when other people voiced his thoughts, "If it got here it obviously passed all the FBI inspections."

Kusakabe nodded. It wasn't very convincing.

"Fuck it," Gokudera shrugged and started tearing at the wrapping until it revealed an expensive-looking black box. There was a stylized silver bone imprinted on the lid.

Gokudera groaned. "Oh God, please tell me he didn't..." He opened the box. "He did."

Kusakabe peeked over his shoulder, "Is that a dog collar?"

Gokudera snapped the lid shut, biting down on his lower lip hard enough to make it swell, "Yep. And I'm going to strangle him with it."

Kusakabe offered him a look of understanding, "Mukuro?"

"You bet your ass," Gokudera snarled, ripping out the card that was neatly tucked underneath the Swarovski-clad insult.

_My regards to your pet. This will make it easier to keep him on a leash next time._

_M._

"That fucking son of a-," he grabbed the collar and the card and stormed off towards Hibari's office.

\---

Hibari was reading over a report when Gokudera stormed in.

"I see you got flowers," Gokudera spat as soon as his gaze fell upon the large arrangement of lilies in the corner. The vase was apparently part of the deal because he couldn't imagine the FBI possessing any object even large enough to hold a bunch of daisies.

"Yes," Hibari said but it was ground out between his teeth as if he was having trouble admitting it. He probably did.

"Well, I got _this_ ," Gokudera held out the offensive collar with two fingers and dumped it on Hibari's desk.

Hibari eyed it for a moment and then took a pen to lift it up for closer inspection. He looked like someone who was trying to decide whether to be intrigued or disgusted.

Gokudera on the other hand didn't need to decide. He _knew_ he was fucking appalled, "The card wasn't even addressed to me. That fucker."

Hibari lifted the collar higher, looking for all it was worth like a goddamned fashion designer.

"Hell no! Forget it, pervert!" Gokudera made a face and crossed his arms in front of his chest as defiantly as he could.

Hibari allowed the leather band to slip from the pen and back on the desk, shrugging, "It _is_ your colour though."

"I don't fucking care," Gokudera snapped. "And if it was capable of light speed and connecting with iTunes I wouldn't care either. It's fucking insulting."

"It is," Hibari agreed, much to Gokudera's surprise. "And I am going to talk to him about it."

"When? Where?" His arms fell to his sides, hands balled into fists that longed to be in Mukuro's face.

Hibari fished something like a business card from his drawer and handed it to Gokudera.

"It only says '12:30' and...," Gokudera squinted. "That's an Italian restaurant not two blocks from here. What the- wait. He's asking you out on a _date_?"

"No."

Gokudera pointed at the card and then at the bouquet of mother nature's finest, "Time, location, flowers. What the fuck else would it be?"

Hibari got up, smoothing out the crinkles in his suit, "I was given the impression that a date requires both parties to view it as a pleasant occasion. Which I don't."

"So, what do _you_ call it?"

Hibari rounded the desk and headed for the door, sending a wicked smile over his shoulder, "A bad idea."

\---

"He's driving me _nuts_ , I tell you."

_"Sorry, who?"_

Gokudera bit down on the stub of his cigarette, "Have you not been listening, you idiot?"

Laughter crawled through the phone line like warm water. Why had he called Yamamoto again?

_"I'm sorry. It's just... a lot of people annoy you. Sometimes it's hard to keep track."_

"I've been telling you about this for the last-," Gokudera checked his watch. "Twenty minutes, moron."

 _"I know,"_ Yamamoto sounded like someone trying to make amends for a crime he didn't commit. _"I just think you're overreacting."_

"Overreacting?" The cigarette almost fell from the corner of Gokudera's mouth. "This fucking leech is invading my life and you're telling me _I'm overreacting_? How the fuck would you feel if some asshole came along and squatted down on your fucking face?"

The silence at the other end of the line caused Gokudera to fear for the worst; and he was right. _"He sat on your face? What?"_

"It's a figure of speech, stupid."

_"None that I've ever heard."_

"Well, now you have," Gokudera inhaled a good third of his remaining cigarette in one go, leaning on the railing of the parking lot and coughing. Damn it, he hadn't smoked in a while; not since the night of the stakeout at the insurance company. You only set fire to Hibari's car once. But the darn nicotine patches were not even worth the paper they were cut from.

Meanwhile, Yamamoto was trying to make a point. _"Look, all I'm saying is maybe you don't need to worry. Kyouya seems to have it under control."_

"If having lunch with the freaking king of demons is what you call 'control' then yes."

_"He's probably just trying to get Mukuro to slip up."_

"By doing what?" Gokudera flipped the smoking stub over the railing, regardless of whose head it was going to bounce off of down there. "Asking nicely?"

_"I don't know. Perhaps?"_

Gokudera grimaced, "Please. Asking nicely in Kyouya-speak means hitting you in the gut instead of your face."

Yamamoto snickered, _"You make him sound like a horrible person."_

"He _is_ a horrible person," Gokudera sighed, resting his head on his arms and gazing at the busy street below.

_"Doesn't seem to stop you from liking him, so he can't be all that bad."_

"Yeah," Gokudera groaned. "I'm a horrible person too."

It was unbelievable how well the tone of Yamamoto's voice could convey his smile, even over the phone, _"Then so am I."_

Gokudera heaved another sigh. He should have called Shamal - at least the bastard of a doctor would have scolded him for acting like a dumb teenager. But Yamamoto was... soothing. Like hugging a pillow and devouring an entire bowl of Häagen-Dazs. It didn't solve your problem but it made you feel a hell of a lot better.

"You're an idiot," Gokudera stated after a while.

 _"You're probably right,"_ Yamamoto replied, laughing like there was no bigger compliment.

Gokudera considered informing Yamamoto that he was always right when his gaze fell on a convoy of black FBI vehicles halting in front of the side entrance below.

"What the hell...," Gokudera scrambled past a few parked cars to get a better look at what was happening.

 _"Something wrong?"_ Yamamoto sounded alert. He probably knew that Gokudera hardly ever passed up an opportunity to further explore his vast vocabulary of insults.

Gokudera nibbled on his lower lip as he watched some of Hibari's minions, including Kusakabe, emerge from the building, "I'm not sure... Listen, I gotta go. I'll call you back."

_"Hayato, don't-"_

Gokudera hung up, sliding the cell phone back into his pocket as he darted to the staircase, taking two steps at once and almost breaking his neck in the process. But he was too slow.

When he stumbled into the lobby the last car of the convoy was disappearing around the corner.

" _Merda._ "


	8. Guillotine

Gokudera tried for over an hour to get any information at all about where the FBI squad was headed but if there was one thing Kusakabe was good at it was keeping secrets. Especially on Hibari's orders.

He could say one thing for sure, though: It had to have something to do with Mukuro. Maybe they were searching his premises when he wasn't expecting it? It was a long shot but then again, Hibari had good aim.

Nevertheless, it left Gokudera pacing around the office. He couldn't leave without an FBI escort and even if he went on his own it would only get him so far. Mukuro's shop was further than one mile from HQ.

And apparently, no agent in this goddamned building was willing to go with him. He called them cowards and bastards but in all honesty, he could understand. Explaining yourself to Hibari was like trying to convince Death itself - you could talk and he would listen but you were still, essentially, dead.

After a while he resigned himself to his fate and shambled onto the parking lot, plopping down on the hood of a random car and pulling out his pack of smokes. It had held out fine until now - two weeks and there were still four cigarettes in it. But today looked like it marked the end of his attempts at abstinence.

He watched the sun descend from its peak in a lazy arch, trying to estimate the time. He was only off by ten minutes when he noticed the convoy pulling up in front of the gate, spewing FBI agents like ants over a piece of sugar. Even from his place high up on the roof Gokudera could tell that their mission hadn't gone well. The way Kusakabe's hairdo wobbled as he sprinted into the building was a dead give-away. There was something rather panicky about it.

Gokudera made his way back to the office where he encountered a panting, desolate Kusakabe, followed by some of Hibari's lower minions. Their expressions were exploring the entire palette between disappointment, exhaustion, and pure horror.

"What the hell happened?" Gokudera asked as he squeezed through the door with Kusakabe.

Kusakabe hurried through the department like a train trying to make good on lost time, "Is Kyo-san back yet?"

"How the fuck should I know? I'm not his goddamned nanny," Gokudera shrugged, miffed that his question was so rudely ignored. This was not like the ever polite and meticulous Kusakabe he knew.

Gokudera reached out to grab Kusakabe by the arm but he could have saved himself the trouble. Kusakabe suddenly froze in mid-step, causing Gokudera to bump awkwardly into his shoulder.

"What the fuck, man?" Gokudera huffed but his anger quickly dissipated when he followed Kusakabe's gaze. Misgiving started to unfold in Gokudera's stomach as they both stared at the scene in Hibari's office.

Hibari was standing in front of his own desk, conversing with a young man sitting in Hibari's chair. The fact that the newcomer was able to do so and still breathe without the help of medical appliances was a big clue that this was no ordinary guest.

On the other hand, if there was anyone in this building who didn't know their visitor they probably didn't belong here anyway. Technically, he was Gokudera's boss.

"What's the Field Director doing here?" Gokudera whispered; he didn't know why but it seemed appropriate. Like one would whisper in church so God wouldn't hear your dirty joke.

In Gokudera's opinion, Sawada Tsunayoshi _was_ the closest thing to God in the Bureau. The man was even younger than Gokudera and had already climbed the job ladder high enough to be allowed to call himself Hibari's boss and not get smacked for it. And all of this despite him being quite an amicable person.

It was a mystery to Gokudrea how Sawada managed to keep Hibari under control without incapacitating him.

"I'm afraid we may be in trouble," Kusakabe said quietly.

"No shit," Gokudera snorted, rolling his eyes.

Hibari's second-in-command heaved a sigh that spoke of a man who was trying to lift a weight twice his size, "Kyo-san sent us to search Mukuro's apartment and office while he kept him busy at lunch."

"Let me guess, you had no search warrant and Mukuro found you out?"

Kusakabe's shoulder's drooped, "Yes. His assistants walked in on us."

"On both locations?"

Kusakabe nodded; they both knew where this was going.

"So, it was a trap right from the start," Gokudera tentatively patted Kusakabe's back. He wasn't very good at this consolation thing. "If it makes you feel any better, I didn't see it coming either."

"Not particularly, no," The agent smiled weakly. "But thank you."

Gokudera couldn't think of anything else to say that wouldn't prompt Kusakabe to commit ritual suicide so he simply shut his mouth and continued to follow the ongoings in Hibari's office.

Hibari had his back turned towards them but judging by his stance he was either going to pick a fight or impersonate a figurehead. Even his suit seemed to be taut. And then the entire proverbial mountain came tumbling down in one single movement.

Gokudera watched in utter horror as Hibari reached inside his jacket and slowly placed his badge on the table. It felt as if everyone around him was drawing in their breath in a unified motion.

"What the-," Gokudera couldn't stand by anymore. He darted off towards Hibari's office, paying no attention to Kusakabe's attempts at holding him back.

He wrenched the door open, stumbling into the room, "What on earth are you doing?"

Hibari paid him no mind but Sawada calmly lifted his hand, beckoning him to wait. His gaze was steady, if a tad sad when it travelled back to Hibari, "I know you are not carrying any firearms but I'm going to have to ask you to surrender your _alternative_ weapons nonetheless."

For a moment nothing happened. To the naked eye it was just two men standing on opposite sides of the same problem, but at second glance it became evident that there were two wills at war here that had never quite found their match. But there was a first time for everything.

Gokudera gaped; he felt like being dropped in an ice-cold bath when Hibari took his dear time extracting his beloved tonfa from their holsters in the unknown depths beneath his suit. His knuckles were turning white even as he set them down next to his badge; two precise clicks of steel against wood. An iron king surrendering his crown.

"Thank you," The pain of having to go through with this was plainly written on Sawada's face. Nevertheless, he remained firm. "Since you are no longer an active agent I'll have to ask you to leave now. Quietly, please."

Gokudera's heart rattled to an abrupt halt when Hibari's stance subtly shifted into one for an open attack. Hibari was prone to violence but surely not even he was foolish enough to outright assault his own boss. Well, Hibari was no fool but he also wasn't an FBI agent anymore, so there was your 50/50 chance.

"I'll bite you dead for this," Hibari hissed. "And you know it." He didn't give Sawada enough time to answer - there was hardly anything to counter this statement with. He turned on his heel, brushing past Gokudera without so much as a second glance.

"Kyouya!" Gokudera tried to stop Hibari but it was about as successful as trying to halt an avalanche. All you could do was make like the trees and bend out of the way.

"What did you do that for?" He gestured frantically as he turned back to Sawada.

The young Field Director sighed, slumping back in his chair as if finally allowed to let go in a rather fierce game of tug-of-war, "You know why."

Gokudera frowned, "Did Mukuro make you do this?"

"No," Sawada was obviously not happy with this assumption. " _Hibari_ made me do this. Rokudo was just the tip of the iceberg."

"But he's right about this bastard!" Gokudera almost whined. "You _know_ that he's right."

"It doesn't matter what I think," Sawada leaned forward like a good-natured principal trying to explain to a school boy why smashing people's windows in was wrong. "Look, there's a line. And believe me when I say that, for Hibari it's always been way further out there than for anyone else. But he of all people should know where the boundaries are."

"Come on," Gokudera forced a smile onto his face. "He's pulled worse stunts than this."

Sawada's eyes widened, "You mean he regularly punches suspects in the face and goes through their belongings without permission?"

"He did what?" Until now Gokudera had thought the missing search warrant was their only problem.

"He gave Rokudo a black eye in the middle of a restaurant."

Gokudera's smile morphed into a smirk of rightful satisfaction. So, Hibari hadn't asked nicely after all.

Sawada grimaced, "That's not funny."

"He deserved it, trust me on that."

There was the hint of a grin tugging at the edges of Sawada's mouth but it was chased away by genuine concern, "Be that as it may, I can't turn a blind eye this time. I've been bending the rules for him for too long."

"Can't you at least let him stay?" Gokudera was clutching at straws, but if that was all he had he might as well use it. "Take the case away from him or whatever but don't take his badge."

"And you really think that would stop him from investigating?" Sawada scowled. "It certainly didn't stop him last time."

"And you think it will now?"

Sawada groaned, like a man unable to get rid of the family of martens living under his car, "Look, do you think I enjoy firing my best agent? Certainly not. Until now his obsession with Rokudo was a pet project, a hobby. Every agent has got one or two of those. The ones that won't leave us alone. But when we start living out our quirks on company time it starts being a problem."

Gokudera knew the director was right. He might have been the youngest to ever lead a field office, but as far as insight into the human mind went he had about two centuries on everyone else. It was quite fascinating. And a little bit unsettling.

He heard Sawada heave another heartfelt sigh, "Kusakabe will be your handler for the time being. I'm guessing that's okay with you?"

Gokudera nodded silently; sure, Kusakabe was alright. He was the closest thing to Hibari this department had. Which still didn't make him _Hibari_ , of course.

"Now go find him," Sawada was wearing a faint smile when Gokudera looked up. "Before he does something... _rash_."

"Like he won't do that anyway," Gokudera rolled his eyes. To his surprise Sawada nodded knowingly.

"Gokudera-kun?" Sawada called out to him before he was out the door. "I'm sorry."

Gokudera smiled but it felt like papermaché, "Nobody's fault but his, right?"

Sawada didn't believe him one bit, "Right."

They stared at each other for another long moment, each expecting the other to add something. Like _'Just a joke. Everything's cool.'_ but Gokudera suspected that was a little too bold to hope for.

"Er, you know...," Sawada suddenly said, fiddling with a pen and decidedly not looking at Gokudera. "What Hibari does in his spare time is really none of my business."

"Sir?" Gokudera arched an eyebrow. He wasn't sure he was following.

"I just want to say that, in the event of hard evidence turning up against Rokudo, I might be able to steer the internal investigation into a more, ah, _favourable_ direction..."

Gokudera tried to appear as if he didn't understand a word of what was being said, "I seriously have no idea what you are implying."

"Good," Sawada's smile teetered a little further away from pained. "Just... make sure nobody dies, okay?"

"I'll do my best," Gokudera offered a small wink and then sped out of the door to find Kusakabe. He was going to need a ride, since his usual driver had fled the scene. He had a growing suspicion as to where he was going to find Hibari.

Old habits died hard, after all.


	9. The Floating Match

Gokudera knocked on the window, leaning down to grin at the occupant of the car, "Hi."

The faintly tinted windows of the Mercedes obscured Hibari's face but it didn't take much imagination to picture it anyway. And by the lack of car doors opening Gokudera figured he was dead-on. He sighed, straightening up and casually leaning against the passenger side, "Not gonna let me in, huh?"

No exquisite clicking of door locks, not even the smooth _fisss_ of an opening window. Fine. There was more than one way to break into a car.

"So, you're just gonna let me stand out here, all by myself," Gokudera raised his voice until a couple of tourists started craning their necks to see who was yelling. "Like some car thief. And I'll admit that is one fine car. You know, eventually, somebody's bound to call the police and when they show up you-"

The doors unlocked.

"Thank you," Gokudera grinned as he slid into the passenger seat. Hibari made a point in staring out of the window.

"You know you're not supposed to be here, right?" Gokudera said conversationally. It didn't matter since Hibari was ignoring him with a vengeance.

Gokudera let him brood in silence for a while. It was always recommendable to take it one step at a time with Hibari. It wasn't that Hibari's mind couldn't cope with an overload of conversation, it was rather that the more time Hibari had between topics he didn't like the better Gokudera could prepare himself for the unavoidable. The fact that Hibari had been forced to abandon his tonfa didn't even put a dent in Hibari's intimidating nature.

"Does staring at that building help?" Gokudera mused, squinting at the opposite side of the street. The pineapple sign above the door of the shop was as ridiculous as ever.

"Be quiet," Hibari snapped.

"Wow. It speaks."

Hibari didn't take his eyes off Mukuro's store, even though it seemed to be deserted, "What do you want here?"

"How about keeping you from doing something absurdly stupid?"

"And that would be?"

Gokudera shrugged, pulling the godawful nicotine gums from his jacket pocket, "Giving Mukuro an excuse to have you arrested. That would remove you from the picture for good. I would do it."

Hibari glanced at him, smirking.

"Okay, maybe not these days, but I swear to God, two years ago I wouldn't have hesitated," Gokudera grumbled and shoved two pieces of gum into his mouth, willing his mind to accept that this was a proper way to ingest nicotine. As with a lot of things lately he was only marginally successful.

"Hey, I'm sorry you got fired and all but-"

"Temporarily suspended," Hibari corrected.

"Fine," Gokudera didn't have the nerve to go to war over technicalities right now. "I'm sorry you got _temporarily suspended_. But this doesn't make stalking him legal. Or any more pointless. You know he's not gonna be stupid enough to waltz out of there with a printing press in tow."

Hibari made a noise that sounded like _'Hmph.'_ which was relatively new in his range of onomatopoeic expressions. Gokudera filed it under _'Grudgingly admitting that in this strange alternate universe that we seem to have found ourselves in you may, perhaps, have a point'_.

"Okay," Gokudera continued. "For the sake of everyone's sanity here, let's assume you're right about Mukuro. What's he gonna do with all the stuff? Even if he _were_ able to build a functioning press out of these parts he wouldn't be able to print a single valid bill."

"Why not?" And suddenly Gokudera's ramblings were relevant to Hibari's interests. Miracles did happen.

Gokudera seized the opportunity, even though he was not entirely sure how to explain the functionality of modern printing presses to a person who thought hitting something with a lump of steel was going to make it work.

"Look," Gokudera had a horrible tendency to talk with his hands - something so inherently Italian not even the bisection of his genetic predisposition could get rid of it - and Hibari's car was quickly getting way too small. "Today's money printing process is not something you can house in your backyard or your basement. We're talking about machines that take up entire warehouses."

"We've searched his warehouses."

Gokudera nodded, "I know. So, if he has indeed built himself one, he keeps it elsewhere. That's still not the real problem."

Hibari arched an eyebrow. It was probably meant to say _'Your dramatic pause is uncalled for. Get on with it or get out.'_.

"All the parts he stole are from _old_ printing presses. None of them are in use anymore. Except in some third-world countries perhaps who bought them cheap after they were put out of commission. I really doubt Mukuro's planning on printing Ethiopian birr."

Hibari seemed to mull this over in his head, "There is one thing you need to understand about Mukuro. It's never about what he _can't do_."

"So? All he could do with a machine like that would be to print, I don't know, Francs. Or Lira. Or any number of European currencies."

"And why shouldn't he?"

Gokudera gave a helpless shrug; either Hibari was a lot thicker than he had previously thought or his obsession was now clouding his judgement more than Gokudera was comfortable with. "Don't you get it? They are _old currencies_. They're not in use anymore. All of the machines the museum was about to put on display were used to print old European bills. Most of them have been replaced by the Euro and are produced with entirely different printing technologies. You can't pay _anywhere_ with these bills."

And why the heck was Hibari smiling all of a sudden?

"So, what _can_ you do with these?"

"Burn 'em?" Gokudera ran a hand through his hair, trying to come up with anything even remotely clever enough to match Hibari's steadily growing smirk. "How the hell should I know what this crazy son of a bitch is up to? The only thing you could do with them is trade them in for-," Gokudera stopped. Like a metal detector he had just found the proverbial treasure chest.

"Wait a minute... that's what you can do with old bills!" He was waving his arms around in unhindered excitement now. "You can trade them in for Euros. Every national bank in the Eurozone can exchange your old currency for new Euros. This... this is _brilliant_."

It didn't even hurt to admit it because this plan was so utterly genius that not even Mukuro's involvement could lessen its sheer unbelievable resourcefulness. Hibari was obviously not sharing Gokudera's sentiment. He was frowning, "Tell me how he would go about doing that."

Gokudera settled back into his seat, picturing himself running the same scam. He would have been lying if he said that he wasn't a tad jealous. Mukuro might have been a dick but he certainly had a knack for out-of-the-box thinking.

"Well," Gokudera pondered. "In theory he could reprint every currency that has been replaced by the Euro. In countries where the Euro has most recently been introduced you can exchange your old banknotes at every bank. It gets trickier the longer a country has had the Euro. The very first countries have had the Euro for over a decade now. The only places that are still allowed to trade for Euros there are the individual national banks but as far as I know none of them have shut down that service yet. In some countries you can even exchange old bills indefinitely."

"Won't they get suspicious?"

Gokudera shook his head, "Not if you keep the amounts minimal in the core member states. I guess you can go all out in the states that have only recently joined the currency union. Nobody will bat an eyelash there if you just happen to find a bundle of bills under your grandma's pillow. Plus, he can do it in _twenty different states_."

"Can it work?"

Gokudera nibbled at his lower lip. Good question; in theory it was the perfect con. You printed a bunch of discontinued bills that barely anyone would take a second look at, handed them in, and got shiny, new and above all _genuine_ currency back. It was like trading in nicotine gums for a packet of cigars. "If you don't get greedy... yes. I think it can work."

"He can't hit all of the national banks himself. He'll need help," Hibari ascertained and he was probably right - to a certain point.

Gokudera grinned, "Not necessarily. In some states it's possible to have your old currency exchanged via registered insured mail. Basically, all you have to do is put some money and an account number in an envelope and, _ecco_! Certified, valid Euros in your bank account. And I'm sure he's got plenty of bank accounts."

"This is _legal_?" Hibari's eyebrows positively crawled up into his bangs.

Gokudera had a hard time not snickering, "There's always a loophole. You just have to find it."

Hibari was less amused. He fell back into his seat, exuding an air of severe brooding. After a few minutes of dead silence he moved to look at Gokudera like someone who was holding the plan of the maze in their hands but was lacking a _'You Are Here'_ dot, "He has a printing press. What else would he need?"

Gokudera held up two fingers, wiggling them as he spoke, "Ink. And paper. And plates but we'll just have to assume that he's already got those."

"Which one is the bigger problem?"

Gokudera hummed in silent contemplation, "Ink, I would say."

"Why?"

"For old bills you need old ink. Some of these currencies have been out of print for over ten years. If there ever was a stash of that ink it was disposed of long ago. And any other reserves are probably too deteriorated by now. He'll have to mix it from scratch."

Hibari's eyes narrowed, "Why do you think that's his problem and not the paper?"

Gokudera scratched his chin, "Paper is easier to preserve than ink. Just look at libraries. The first thing that's gone is the writing on the pages, not the pages themselves."

"So he has a stock of it somewhere," Hibari's expression could have easily scared off the Grim Reaper himself.

It was a bit of a reach, Gokudera admitted. Any paper supply had either been destroyed or was in the process of being disintegrated. But if you were quick and deft - both of which, sadly, seemed to apply to Mukuro - you might have been able to snag a few shipments. It also meant that Mukuro had to have started piling up paper since the late 90's.

That was over ten years of planning. No matter how you looked at it - it was impressive. And fucking insane.

Hibari's train of thought was obviously heading in a similar direction, "He's been planning it for so long, why now?"

Gokudera could only offer a weary shrug, "Maybe ten years was long enough of a wait?"

"No," Hibari was eyeing the store windows of the antiques shop as if they alone held the answer. "I think he couldn't get a hold of the missing parts before."

"And now the museum served them up on a platter. Great," Gokudera murmured. "Did Kusakabe find out who Mukuro paid off at customs?"

Hibari waved it off, "The man never saw anyone. Got an anonymous letter shoved under his door with instructions and some cash."

"Any chance there was a lily on the letter?"

Hibari shot him a glance that indicated he did not appreciate the joke.

"That would have been too good to be true anyway," Gokudera sighed, sliding down in his seat. He tried not to notice how much more spacious Hibari's car was and how well he fitted in here.

"So, what now?" Gokudera asked after a while. "We can hardly sit around here all day and watch a building."

"Where would he go to get the ink?" Hibari replied, even though Gokudera couldn't really tell what or who to. Sometimes Hibari's thought processes were like hyperspace journeys - every once in awhile he would drop out of his super-highway for a pit-stop to allow you to jump on board. If you were not able to hold on that was your problem, not his.

"You mean besides _me_?" Gokudera grinned broadly but Hibari failed to be impressed. "Bah. _Cretino_. Alright, I _may_ know someone."


	10. Wringer

Shamal was a) not amused to hear from him and b) obviously in the middle of some kind of weird bodily exam with one or more members of the opposite gender. Gokudera thanked all the Gods who had decided to take pity on him that a simple pay phone was not yet capable of video telephony. Otherwise they might have been scarred for life.

But he delivered. Half an hour later Gokudera's cell phone beeped with the arrival of a new text message. It contained an address and a string of Italian swear words that Hibari didn't ask about and Gokudera wouldn't have wanted to explain anyway.

"Who is this Giannini?" Hibari inquired as he parked the Mercedes right in front of the tiny locksmith service shop. It was literally just a door squeezed between two supermarkets. They would have to enter behind each other in order to fit in there.

Gokudera scrambled out of the passenger seat, "He's been in this business longer than I can think. Gifted forger but he's got a nasty habit of... experimenting with technology." Most of it exploded but Gokudera kept that to himself.

Hibari inspected the accumulation of blinking lights attached to every bit of space available on the glass door. Several signs flashed 'OPEN' in bright red and green letters while others claimed the shop to be closed. There was one that read 'PIZZZA' and one that Gokudera found rather offensive to anyone speaking Polish.

The interior was about the size of a shoe box but it was made even smaller by the gigantic number of assorted... _things_. There was no better word for it because no two items were alike. There were keys, as advertised, yes, but other goods as well. Some of it looked as if it belonged in a sex shop but Gokudera hoped that was just his imagination.

As expected, the shop was more or less a narrow tube leading up to a counter that sat squished between two racks that overflowed with objects Gokudera didn't even know the names of.

"Giannini!" Gokudera exclaimed, putting on his friendly face. It wasn't too hard; Giannini had never wronged him and the few times that they had helped each other out he'd proved to be a very dependable man.

"Ah! Signore Gokudera! What a nice surprise!" Giannini emerged from the only door, half-hidden behind the counter. He came bustling towards them. It was a bit like watching an egg roll around a table.

A customary Italian greeting followed, full of back-patting, pleasantries, and Hibari sulking behind him.

"Please." Giannini beckoned them towards the counter, "Coffee?"

"No, thanks," Gokudera leaned on the counter as Giannini rummaged around beneath it. "We came to ask you about, uh, your _paint work_."

Giannini's shiny and partially bald head stopped wobbling before he looked up at Gokudera with a concerned frown, "I don't do paint jobs."

Gokudera gestured over his shoulder, "Don't worry about him. He's alright."

"He looks like a fed," Giannini whispered, peering at Hibari over the counter.

"He's not. Not anymore, at least. Got fired today-"

"Temporarily suspended."

Gokudera rolled his eyes, "-whatever. Point is: he's not with the FBI. We can talk."

"Oh," Giannini shot Hibari another fearful glance before disappearing again. "In this case, can I perhaps interest you in some tea?" When he reemerged he was proudly presenting them with something that looked like it might have been part of Apollo 13 once - it would have explained why that mission had been such a disaster.

"Uhm...," Gokudera edged away but there really weren't a lot of options where to go. "No, thanks. _Really._ "

"Are you sure?" Giannini set the machine - for lack of a better word - down on the counter, admiring it like a sculptor ogling his latest masterpiece. "I completed it just this morning. It makes tea twice as fast as any tea pot on the market. You just have to put the tea in here and then press this button and-"

Gokudera grabbed Giannini's hand before his finger could connect with anything that might cause this shop to blow up, "Maybe another time, okay? We're kind of in a hurry."

Giannini threw Hibari another glance, "I see. Well, what is it you came to ask me?"

Gokudera propped his elbows on the counter, leaning closer, "Do you know anyone by the name of Rokudo Mukuro?"

Giannini extracted a handkerchief from the depths of his pockets and wiped his forehead - for what purpose Gokudera did not know. It was just as shiny as before. "Hm. No, I don't think so."

"Seriously, Giannini, this is important," Gokudera implored. "Tall guy, weird hair, long ponytail, talks a lot of shit?"

"I don't remember anyone who might fit that description."

Gokudera hid his face in his hands, cursing quietly, "You _have to_. If we only had a picture of him I'm sure you would-"

"Do you recognise this man?" Hibari had squeezed up next to him and was holding out a cell phone to Giannini, who squinted at the display in quiet desperation.

"Seriously?" Gokudera scowled. "You have a picture of him _on your cell phone_?"

"Yes."

"What for?" Gokudera wanted to gesticulate but his movements were somewhat restricted by Hibari on one side and a rack full of equipment that might blow his head off on the other. "To randomly flash it at people?"

Hibari looked unperturbed, "Yes. And it's hardly random."

"Is this what you do late at night at the office?" Gokudera scrambled up close, their noses almost touching.

"No. I do _you_ late at night at the office," Hibari said with the suggestion of a smug grin on his lips and it completely took the wind out of Gokudera's sails. You couldn't argue with the truth.

"You," Gokudera poked Hibari in the shoulder for lack of space to kick him in the nuts. "Can kiss my ass, fucker."

And if there ever was a been-there-done-that face it was Hibari's in that exact moment. Asshole.

Giannini coughed politely, "I hate to interrupt but I'm afraid I don't recognise this man. I'm really sorry. I wish I could help."

Hibari pocketed his cell phone, taking a few steps backwards to give Gokudera some room. Gokudera smiled weakly, "Never mind. It was worth a shot. You're the best ink maker in town. We thought Mukuro might have..." He trailed off, blinking, "Wait a minute. Was there maybe a girl? Shy, petite, sort of purple-ish hair? Eye-patch?"

"Yes!" Giannini almost squealed with glee now that he was finally able to provide valuable input. "She was here yesterday!"

Gokudera spun around, his triumphant grin bordering on maniacal, "That's why she wasn't at the shop when we searched it. 'Deliveries', my ass."

"What did you make for her?" Gokudera asked and Giannini's face lit up.

"Ah! Give me a moment I can make you a copy of her order," he scurried off into the back room of the shop that was quite possibly the door to another dimension.

"You keep _copies_?" Gokudera wondered with raised eyebrows but the only person still listening was Hibari. "What do you think?" He leaned against the counter facing the ex-agent, who seemed a lot gloomier than Gokudera thought appropriate. "Will this be enough to get him arrested?"

"The girl, maybe," Hibari shrugged. "But if she doesn't give him up it's word against word. And a criminal's word is weak."

"Are you talking about Mukuro or Giannini?" Gokudera presented Hibari with a lopsided grin. "Come on, Giannini isn't a criminal. Not really."

"He makes ink for forgeries," Hibari deadpanned.

"Yeah. But it could be worse."

Hibari arched one eyebrow and Gokudera smiled, "He could be cracking cell phones."

"That is hardly worse."

"Even if they explode when you pick up?"

Hibari's expression told Gokudera he wanted to ask but he never got around to it, for Giannini bustled back into the room, proudly waving with a crinkled piece of paper. One corner was dripping wet, staining Gokudera's fingers black when he took it.

"Uh, sorry." Giannini pointed at the ink blotch, his bald head red and shiny like a polished, very embarrassed tomato. "The printer jammed. I don't know why, I checked it this morning and it was fine."

"Don't worry about it," Gokudera held the paper between two fingers, searching for something to clean the rest of them with.

"Did she come by car?" Hibari shoved a paper tissue at him. Gokudera accepted it with the sigh of a man who was going to wipe his fingers on his partner's jacket if all else failed. While Gokudera was busy trying to remove the most irritatingly sticky ink from his hands, Giannini nodded.

"Did you see what car she was driving?" Hibari sounded excited. Well, more excited than usual - which meant that his tone of voice was actually going up at the end of that sentence.

Giannini produced a stained cloth from somewhere about his person and wiped his forehead, deep in concentration. Gokudera couldn't help but think of oiling up bowling balls.

"Something big," the ink maker decided after a while. "I saw it parked outside and I remember wondering how she was even able to drive it."

One look at Hibari told Gokudera that satisfactory answers were of a different stamp and so he rushed to Giannini's aid, "Do you remember the make or the model? What colour was it?"

Giannini was obviously wracking his brain to come up with something helpful, "Black. Definitely black. A 4x4 possibly? I only saw it from behind."

"You wouldn't happen to have seen the license plate, would you?" Gokudera asked but without much hope.

"Sorry," Giannini fumbled with the cloth in his hands, avoiding their gazes.

Gokudera let his head hang and sighed, "Never mind. It was worth a sh-"

"But there are cameras in front of the supermarkets next door," Giannini provided.

Gokudera snapped back to attention, throwing a glance over his shoulder. Hibari was smiling, pulling out his cell phone, "I'll make a few calls."

And then he was out of the door, leaving Gokudera vaguely embarrassed, "That was him saying thank you."

Giannini looked at him as if he were able to comprehend what it was like to be with someone who thought courtesy was simply the word that came after _court_ in the dictionary. Gokudera doubted that the man was even close to understanding.

"Well, I guess I'll be going too," Gokudera folded up the print-out, its edges now blessedly dry, and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. "Thanks a lot, Gian-"

"Wait. Before you go," Giannini suddenly sounded a lot less like a slightly odd technology freak and a lot more like a concerned friend. "I have something for you." He reached under the counter and produced a small plastic container, pushing it towards Gokudera. He looked as if it was giving him stomach cramps.

"What the hell?" Gokudera inspected the contents and found nothing but a micro SD card. Alright, he had to admit, he was confused.

"The girl left it," Giannini's expression was unusually dark for someone who looked like a gleaming billiard ball most of the time. "She said to give it to you if you dropped by."

Gokudera closed his eyes, his fingers curling tight around the plastic box, "Goddammit." It came out as a whisper.

"This is pretty bad, isn't it?" Giannini asked, earnest sympathy in every word.

Gokudera considered all possible answers. The girl had most likely left the card on Mukuro's orders, which meant that the damned bastard had known all along that they would not stop investigating even if Hibari got fired. Or temporarily suspended, as it were. Either way, if the term 'bad news' had been invented for a reason - this was it.

"Yep," Gokudera replied eventually, pocketing the small portable drive. He offered Giannini a brief smile that wouldn't have fooled a blind man. "Thanks for your help, Giannini."

"Any time." The ink maker waved him goodbye like someone watching a long-time acquaintance march off to war. Sadly, Gokudera was right there on the front line; and he was seriously under-equipped.

\---

He flopped down in the passenger seat while Hibari was still standing outside, probably arguing Kusakabe into using his intact FBI status to pull the desired footage from the cameras. Gokudera doubted that his argumentation was any different than from before. Hibari was _always_ somebody's superior, even if it was just the common man on the street.

Meanwhile, Gokudera fiddled with the SD card in his pocket, drumming his fingers on the armrest next to him. Whatever was on this card was meant for his eyes only, that much was for certain. But it could be any number of things - a message, a threat, a bribe, or simply another insult because Mukuro really seemed to get off on that. In any case, Mukuro obviously did not want Hibari to know.

Well, fuck it. Mukuro could go screw himself. Gokudera held out his hand as soon as Hibari got in, "Give me your phone."

He wasn't going to start having secrets again because of that stupid, blue-haired pineapple. If anything they were going to be _his_ secrets and nobody else's.

"Please?" Gokudera beckoned once more but Hibari refused to cooperate. He glared at Gokudera and he was going to do so until kingdom come if need be. Gokudera made a noise that was somewhere between an exasperated sigh and an angry growl and fished the small box from his pocket, "Giannini gave me this. It's from Mukuro."

Hibari's eyes narrowed as if he was trying to determine whether or not it might explode.

"It's an SD card," Gokudera explained, popping the box open to reveal the microscopic drive. "I need something to plug it into. Your phone might work."

Reluctantly, Hibari handed him the cell phone. His gaze continued to follow every move Gokudera made to remove the current SD card from its slot and work the new one in, like a bomb tec checking on the new guy.

Gokudera navigated through the system until he found the single file that had been uploaded onto the drive.

"What is it?" Hibari asked, leaning over to watch the screen.

Gokudera's brow furrowed in confusion, "It's just an mp3. What the heck?"

He clicked the 'Play' button. For a second there was only some ominous rustling but then the smooth sound of a piano filled the car. Gokudera's heart stopped for a moment and then started hammering against his ribcage so hard Gokudera feared his bones might break. The cell phone slipped from his rigid, stone-cold fingers. He didn't even notice Hibari scrambling over the shifter to pick it up.

Hibari eyed the screen, the file still playing, "What is this?"

Gokudera wanted to tell him but his heart was in his throat and everything was cold and hot at the same time. All he could say was, "It's _her_. _Mio dio, it's her_." He looked up with wide eyes, his hands clenched into fists - half in anger and half in an effort to keep them from trembling, "It's her, Kyouya. It's my mother's piano."

Hibari's gaze dropped to the screen, his eyebrows drawn together in a frown, "How can you tell?"

Gokudera gestured vaguely, "I-... I don't know. I just can. It's the way the G sounds slightly off because the wood got wet once and the screw tends to come loose. And the small clicking sound that the F sharp makes when you don't hit it hard enough. It's... Kyouya, I'm telling you it's _her_. That goddamned fucking asshole has _my piano_!"

Hibari stopped the playback, setting the phone aside. He didn't say anything for a long while. Maybe he was giving Gokudera time to come to terms with what this meant or maybe he was just waiting until Gokudera was able to form decent sentences again.

"Why would he give this to you?" Hibari asked quietly.

Gokudera was trying not to punch holes into Hibari's car, "Who knows. As a warning maybe? A bargaining chip? Perhaps he's telling me that I if I keep you from poking around I'll get to have her back."

Hibari fell silent again. He knew better than anyone what this piano meant to Gokudera. Gokudera had pretty much dragged them both through hell and back for it. He'd taken on the Varia, and Hibari, and his entire FBI squad for the mere chance of finding it. And now that thrice-damned son of a bitch was dangling it in front of him like a carrot for a mule.

In Gokudera's opinion Mukuro deserved to die for the sheer impertinence of coming _near_ his mother's piano. For Mukuro's sake he hoped that the blue-haired devil wasn't the one playing it. Otherwise Gokudera was going to make his death painful _and_ slow.

What made it even worse was that Gokudera had just kicked this golden opportunity out the window. And what for? For a wonky relationship with an irritating, violent, fucking ridiculously good-looking FBI agent. Perhaps the piano wasn't the only thing that had a screw loose.

"Well," Gokudera decidedly avoided looking at Hibari and heaved a shuddering sigh. "It's pointless now anyway. You weren't supposed to hear it."

"You knew it was something to coax you into helping him, didn't you?" Hibari's gaze was fixed upon him but for some reason it felt a lot less piercing than it usually did.

Gokudera turned to face Hibari and gave a somewhat helpless shrug, "I didn't, but I knew he wasn't beyond blackmailing, so..."

"You could have waited and used somebody else's phone."

Gokudera let himself fall back into the comfort of the seat, throwing his hands up in wordless agreement. Yes, he could have waited but, believe it or not, people could change. Sometimes they did it of their own accord and sometimes they needed help. And sometimes they did it at point-blank range of a tonfa.

He'd been chasing after this piano for the better part of his adult life and it hadn't gotten him jack squat. Somehow, he figured this thing with Hibari was like a substitute - equally crazy, and flawed, and slightly broken but, if played right, utterly beautiful. And so far, irritating, violent, pretty FBI agents were way more satisfying than old pianos.

"You know what?" Gokudera looked at Hibari, clenching his jaw. "Can we please just bring this motherfucker down?"

Hibari's eyes lingered on him for a moment before a subtle smirk began to form on his lips like somebody who was unwrapping a present. He reached for the ignition button and nodded.

Gokudera crossed his arms defiantly, snarling, "Whoever that was doesn't know shit about Beethoven anyway."


	11. Quick Change

If nothing else, Mukuro's attempted bribery clearly indicated that he was worried. They were getting closer than the little fucker wanted them to be.

Then again, Mukuro had only himself to blame. He should have known that short of killing Hibari nothing could stop him. Getting thrown out of the Bureau was barely more than the equivalent of a fly on Hibari's windscreen. And it certainly didn't slow him down.

Kusakabe was worth his salt - he texted Hibari the last known stops of a black 4x4 BMW rental, pulled off the onboard GPS. One of them was right in front of a couple of warehouses.

Minutes later they were already on their way there.

"And?" Hibari inquired as he got them closer to their destination.

Gokudera scratched at a stain on the paper Giannini had given them but realised that it was yet another unknown substance that probably shouldn't even be anywhere near a printer, "If I'm reading this right he's got just about all the ink he needs to reprint all twenty discontinued currencies. I guess she brought it directly to their printing press."

"Wouldn't he want to store it separately?"

Gokudera shrugged, "Well, he's gonna have to start printing eventually. And in order to do that he needs all the materials in the same place - mint, paper, ink and the plates. And judging by the bullshit he pulled with _my piano_ I reckon he's getting anxious."

Hibari overtook a truck in a reckless swerve into oncoming traffic. Gokudera absent-mindedly grabbed hold of the door handle. He was used to Hibari's driving style by now. It basically consisted of two rules: 1) Every street was first and foremost built for Hibari's convenience and 2) traffic was like the Red Sea - it either parted for him or it would suffer the consequences.

"I said he's getting anxious," Gokudera reprimanded while trying to decipher what 'A345R2' meant in Giannini's weird ink-related speech. "Not that he's done already. It takes a while to print enough bills in twenty currencies, alright?"

"Then we catch him in the act," Hibari insisted and ran a red light. Something crashed behind them but Gokudera didn't dare turn around to see whose insurance was going to have some fun in the near future.

"Can't catch him if we're dead, jackass."

Hibari only looked at him briefly as if Gokudera had just told him to go back to driving school.

"Uh, just out of curiosity," Gokudera scratched at his chin, watching the rain drops turn into jittery rivulets on the windows. "What exactly are we planning on doing once we get to Mukuro's warehouse?"

"Well, you're a thief, aren't you?"

"What?" Gokudera wiggled around to gape at Hibari. "You want me to _break in_?"

Hibari glanced at him like he was stating the obvious.

"No!" Gokudera exclaimed, accentuating each word with as many gestures as possible. "Fuck you! I'm not breaking into a fucking warehouse for you! I'm already half-way back in prison just by sitting in this car with you. I'm not gonna add breaking and entering while under FBI care to that list."

"Technically, you're not under their care right now."

"Tell that to Kusakabe. He's the one manipulating my goddamned anklet so I can keep your goddamned ass from getting busted. You want him to get fired too?"

"Temporarily suspended."

"Shut up!" Gokudera made a strangled noise and pulled at his hair, trying to calm down. Maybe he had seen it coming, alright, but he had still hoped that Hibari would be slightly less of a presumptuous prick than usual. Apparently, he had to readjust his mental scale for dickishness.

"Please tell me why I'm doing this?" Gokudera massaged his temples, fending off the mother of all migraines.

"Because if you say no I will throw you out right here. And I will not stop for it."

"Ah, right. That's why," Gokudera said sardonically. "Remind me again, why haven't I strangled you in your sleep yet?"

"Because you always fall asleep first."

"Shut the fuck up and drive."

\---

The rain had dulled to a light drizzle when they pulled up on the parking lot near the long row of warehouses. The heavy cloud cover rendered the night utterly dark.

"For the record," Gokudera grumbled as they made their way towards the storage facility closest to the indicated GPS position. "This is a shitty night for a break-in."

"I thought dark and gloomy nights were a preferred working time for thieves?"

Gokudera couldn't make out Hibari's face but he could hear the smirk in his voice, "Oh that's funny, agent Unemployed. Any more witty jokes about my profession?"

"I told you. Temporarily susp-"

"Don't," Gokudera stopped, rain dripping off his hair and running down his spine beneath his shirt, making him shiver. He was not a happy camper right now and Hibari was getting on his nerves with that suspension bullshit. Fired was fired, no matter if it had a time frame or not. The long and short of it was that they were way beyond illegal here and Hibari was harping on about technicalities.

"Can we worry about your employment status _after_ we've committed a federal crime?"

Hibari only gave a noncommittal shrug and marched on ahead, "You're the one forcing me to correct you all the time."

Gokudera didn't retaliate; words could not express what he was thinking and there were no blunt objects laying around. He wondered briefly if he had been too hasty to trade his piano for Hibari. He trotted after him anyway.

\---

Twenty minutes later their world blew up in a hailstorm of fire and razorsharp debris.

The explosion catapulted them away from the gate. Hot shards of metal sliced through Gokudera's clothing even as he fell to the ground. The impact knocked all air out of his lungs. Pieces of stone, wood, and paper rained down on him as he groaned in pain, desperately trying to shake the dizziness that threatened to make him pass out.

Black spots were narrowing his vision and the ringing in his ears was unbearable. He was vaguely aware that he'd landed somewhere on the gravel road between the warehouses but that didn't worry him. What made him panic was that his hand only grabbed thin air when he tried to reach for Hibari.

He blinked, his eyes watering from the smoke and the heat that the burning building was emitting. He scrambled around on the ground like a disoriented beetle, wincing with every movement. He finally spotted Hibari a little to his left.

Gokudera lifted himself onto his hands and knees, ignoring the searing jolt of pain as injured skin scraped over gravel and cracked bones ground against each other. He wobbled over to Hibari, trying to shield himself from the raging inferno behind them with his jacket.

He unceremoniously poked Hibari in the shoulder, "Kyouya!"

The ringing in his ears made it sound like he was talking from a hundred feet away through a ball of cotton. He was pretty sure he was shouting, though.

"Kyouya, damn it!" He tried again, shaking Hibari more violently, "Get up! We need to get out of here!"

His lungs decided that this string of sentences was too long and gave into a coughing fit that had him collapsing right next to his unmoving partner.

"Fu-... uck," he hacked and wriggled closer to Hibari. He was positively punching Hibari by now. "Get the fuck up, you stubborn shit!"

It took him three thumps to realise that his hands were stained with blood and it was too much to be his. Gokudera’s gaze travelled to Hibari's face and then to the ground around him. The surging flames gave off eerie reflections in the pool of blood that was getting bigger at an alarming rate.

"No," Gokudera said determinedly as he sat up and ripped Hibari's jacket open with trembling hands. "No, no, _no_!"

Hibari's shirt was dark, as always but it was still relatively intact except for a few scratches. Mostly from their harsh landing, Gokudera suspected, but definitely not enough to cause this much blood loss. He manhandled Hibari’s head into his lap, patting down his back in search for any open wounds. He might as well have squeezed a sponge. Hibari's jacket was dripping wet with blood, pinned to his back by a good half a dozen shards.

"God-fucking-dammit!" Gokudera wasn't sure if the tears in his eyes stemmed from the toxic smoke or the realisation that Hibari was about to bleed out in his very arms.

"You don't fucking die on me, you stupid prick," Gokudera patted Hibari down for his cell phone in the hopes that it had survived the blast. "Not here, not now, not ever."

He found it in Hibari's inside pocket. The screen was cracked and the crystals were running wild, giving him nothing but a senseless mess of colours but Gokudera tried dialling 911 anyway. The '1' button was completely busted.

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!" Gokudera was ready to toss the cell phone in a fit of rage when an idea struck him. He pushed the number 2 and anxiously waited for the call to connect.

'2' was Kusakabe. That was one of two things Gokudera knew about Hibari's phone. Kusakabe used to be number 1 on speed dial. The current holder of said spot was sitting neck-deep in shit right now.

Gokudera almost cried when Kusakabe picked up. He started babbling right away, not caring if Kusakabe could even hear him or not, "Call 911. We're at the warehouse. We-... We went in and it blew up. Fucking _blew up_. It's-... He's hurt. He's... _fuck_ , he's bleeding and he won't wake up. You need to call help!"

There was no response. Gokudera didn't know if the phone had died on him or if Kusakabe had simply hung up.

"Shit!" Gokudera screamed and sent the cell phone skidding over the gravel. He tried to take some deep breaths but it only resulted in him coughing up half his lungs. Plus, his left side hurt as if somebody was constantly slamming him into a steel bar.

He shook his head, forcing himself to focus. In case the call hadn't gone through he had to get Hibari to a hospital by himself. He needed to get back to the car.

Gokudera stripped out of his jacket, groaning as he pulled it over his aching shoulder. He stuffed it under Hibari's head and searched for the keycard. He yanked it out of Hibari's wallet and staggered to his feet. It took him a few steps to regain his balance but at least none of the joints in his legs seemed to be affected. Although it did hurt like bloody hell.

He wobbled and limped towards the car, collapsing onto the hood when he'd finally reached it. Breathing was getting difficult and he felt as if he was walking through a tunnel but he gritted his teeth and bore with it as he clambered into the driver's seat.

It was probably not a good idea to drive in his current condition but he had no choice. The engine roared to live and Gokudera didn't waste any time orientating himself. He simply put the pedal to the metal and sped off.

\---

The Mercedes skittered to a halt, swivelling sideways on the slick gravel. Gokudera winced when the strain of holding on to the steering wheel bit into his over sensitive nerves.

He fell rather than stepped out of the car, crouching down next to Hibari. His breathing was awfully shallow. Gokudera half-dragged, half-carried Hibari to the car, trying to be mindful of the wounds in his back but it was easier said than done. They were _everywhere_. He was like a human pin cushion and Gokudera was accidentally driving the shards in even deeper as he tried to hold on to Hibari and open the door at the same time.

And he would have done it, Gokudera told himself - and everyone else who was willing to listen later on. He would have saved his stubborn idiot of a lover and Hibari would have forever owed him one.

But as glorious as that would have been Gokudera was grateful when he heard the first sirens in the distance. He abandoned his efforts and slumped down on the ground, leaning his throbbing back against the side of the car. He looked down at his dirty, bloodied hands, slowly stroking Hibari's hair as if they had a life of their own.


	12. Keelan and Charlotte

There wasn't a whole lot you could do in a hospital at 3:25 in the morning. There was the occasional nurse patrolling the corridor to make sure everything was in order, the young intern trying to lay low, the cleaning personnel shuffling their carts around, but all in all everything was quiet. Too quiet for Gokudera's taste.

He slapped the side of the coffee vending machine in the empty visitor's lounge, grumbling, and pushed the 'Espresso doppio' button for the umpteenth time without much effect. He was tired, _so tired_ , but he couldn't sleep. He'd been given painkillers but they only made it worse. If he'd been in pain he could have at least stopped _thinking_.

He rattled the machine with his good arm, spitting nasty curses at this uncooperative piece of technology. It was a meagre excuse for a distraction. His mind was reeling, rewinding the scene at the warehouse like a broken film projector. An endless loop of _How?_ and _Why?_ and _If only I'd been faster_.

It had been a little over 3 hours since they had been brought in and still no news on Hibari.

Gokudera leaned his forehead against the illuminated front of the machine and wondered why it was raining on his shoes. The small _click_ before everything had been blasted to hell still echoed in his mind; or maybe it was the machinery behind the plastic, he couldn't be sure. He should have noticed sooner. How could he have missed a fucking _trip wire_? It was the oldest trick in the book and he hadn't noticed, hadn't even _looked for it_. Why hadn't he looked? 

"Fuck! Shit! _Fuck!_ " Gokudera yelled. He wiped his eyes on the bandage around his arm and gave the coffee vending machine another hefty kick. He regretted it when his big toe started throbbing like a chock-full balloon, but a part of him gave a satisfied nod - he deserved it. He deserved all the pain in the world.

The machine still refused to give him his coffee.

"Whoa, hold your horses. Are you trying to break your foot as well?"

Gokudera froze. He was torn between jumping the newcomer and bolting, but he was too spent to decide. He wanted to rest his head against something warm and alive but he just kept staring at the vending machine.

"Allow me?" Yamamoto's smiling face popped into Gokudera's field of vision. He inspected the machine for a moment and then pushed some random buttons that were probably going to produce hot chocolate with extra sugar.

The device clicked and whirred obediently.

"What are you doing here?" Gokudera growled at Yamamoto.

"Kusakabe called." Yamamoto reached into the dispenser tray and handed him a steaming cup of something that smelled suspiciously like espresso. "He said you might need a friend."

Gokudera stared into the black liquid as if it were able to reveal the future. When it didn't he snorted and turned away. "I don't fucking need anything."

"Yeah, I can see that."

The sarcasm didn't escape Gokudera's attention but he ignored it. He was too exhausted to call Yamamoto out on it. Flopping down on one of the couches, he tried to ignore the rest of Yamamoto as well.

It was difficult though. Especially, when the annoying idiot sat down next to him, giving him a look like he was a grieving widow. "You wanna tell me what happened?"

Gokudera snatched his arm away from Yamamoto's grasp. "I thought you'd talked to Kusakabe? Didn't he say anything?"

"He was pretty brief." Yamamoto scratched the back of his neck and, _oh Lord_ , had he really missed the stupid oaf this much? "Besides," Yamamoto continued. "I kind of wanted to hear it from you."

Gokudera wanted to cross his arms like a cranky kid but it didn't quite work since half his torso was tightly bandaged. He dropped his arms with an exasperated sigh and scowled. "What are you? My therapist?"

"For tonight? Call me whatever you like." Yamamoto offered him another one of those ghastly irresistible smiles that had the power to heal cancer or some shit. Gokudera hated that smile; he hated it because it made him feel stronger than he really was. That was why he preferred phone calls with Yamamoto - they didn't make him want to crawl into Yamamoto's lap and stay there until the world ceased to push him from one pile of crap into another.

Gokudera threw his hands up, almost knocking over his cup. "A building blew up, okay? We were in there, we weren't fast enough, we- I didn't-," he stopped, biting his lip, and avoided Yamamoto's gaze. It felt like rain indoors again but he fought it, swallowing around the sticky lump of guilt and anger in his throat. "It was a trap and we ran straight into it. We- _I_ didn't see it."

"Gokudera...," Yamamoto's hand lightly touched his arm but Gokudera would have none of it.

"No," he said forcefully. "I should have caught it. I should have gotten us out of there but I didn't. I failed to spot a goddamned booby-trap, Yamamoto! It's my fault. If I had noticed it sooner we-... he wouldn't be-" He honestly didn't know how to end that sentence. Perhaps he was afraid of how it _might_ end.

Yamamoto's smile was gone and he was shaking his head. "Gokudera, you can't blame yourself for this. You couldn't have known that this Mukuro guy would blow up his entire warehouse."

"Yes," Gokudera insisted, his jaw set in a grim line. "Yes, I should have."

"Stop saying that. How were you supposed to know, huh? It's not like-"

Gokudera cried out in helpless frustration, fisting his hands in his hair before springing up from the couch. "It's what _I would have done_ , okay? I'm supposed to be the expert around here. _I'm_ supposed to know all the tricks, for fuck's sake!"

"Calm down, Gokud-"

"No! I'm not fucking calming down, you stupid moron!" His cheeks felt hot from anger or embarrassment or possibly both but he was on a roll now. "You don't get it, do you?"

Yamamoto only looked at him with those ridiculously big, honest, brown eyes and said nothing. Sometimes Yamamoto reminded Gokudera of a blank piece of paper - it was there, waiting patiently for you to fill it, gladly accepting anything without complaint or judgement. You just had to make the first step.

Gokudera waved his hands vaguely. "I'm... He's not supposed to be in there, you understand? He's like... like freaking Captain America or something. He's supposed to be all high and mighty, the last man standing and all that shit. He's…," he sought for the right words but everything he came up with was too heavy on his tongue. He studied the bandage on his arm, scratching at it and twisting a loose fibre around his finger. And all the while Yamamoto just sat there waiting for him to go on like they had all the time in the world.

Gokudera took a deep breath, keeping his eyes trained on the floor. When he spoke again his voice sounded foreign even to himself. He figured he had to get it out sooner or later - and Yamamoto wasn't such a bad confidant after all. "It's just that he's the one constant in this fucking world and I... I can't-," he cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders, wincing when his muscles reminded him that he had only barely escaped an explosion. "A lot of things I used to believe in turned out to be complete bullshit. I can't have this one fail me."

The room filled up with silence, like a fish tank ready to house all kinds of ugly creatures. Gokudera was done saying what he hadn't even known was there. But Yamamoto had a way of making you want to be your most honest. So did Hibari but they were different in their approach. While Hibari forced everyone to own up Yamamoto simply gave you a choice and relied on you to make the right one. Sometimes Yamamoto's way was the crueller one.

"Gokudera," Yamamoto said with a sigh and stood up. He closed the distance between them as if the last couple of months hadn't been phone calls only, and took both of Gokudera's hands in his, not allowing Gokudera to flee. "I want you to listen carefully now because I'm only going to say this once. You have to stop blaming yourself. You do that a lot. But you have to realise that sometimes things happen that aren't your fault."

Gokudera shook his head, trying to twist out of Yamamoto's grip but the damned idiot was relentless. He would have plucked his fingers in his ears if he'd been able to free them but he was doomed to listen.

"The way I see it you did him a favour," Yamamoto was saying and it made Gokudera spit out a short, bitter laugh.

Yamamoto's expression darkened. It was like watching the makeup of a clown come off to reveal a person who had the same capacity for melancholy as everyone else. "If you hadn't been there I'm sure he would have stormed into that warehouse and he wouldn't have made it out _at all_. You were there to pull him out and I bet you he knows that."

"And what for?" Gokudera hissed, finally managing to untangle himself from Yamamoto. "So they can pluck half a building out of his back? Wow. I'm a fucking hero, aren't I?"

"Gokudera, don't do that." Something about Gokudera's shoes had to be really interesting because Yamamoto was staring at them with his hands balled into fists at his sides.

But Gokudera didn't notice. Another one in the long row of things he failed to see coming. He was so busy remodelling his little house of guilt that he didn't hear anyone knocking - until it was too late.

Yamamoto was a swordsman but he had a damned impressive right hook.

\---

Gokudera groaned. He didn't know what hurt more - his face, or the rest of his body. His senses took a moment to assign the pain to all its designated areas, leaving just enough brain capacity for him to blink his eyes open.

He gave another heartfelt moan when Yamamoto's face drifted into focus. The moron was offering up a small ice pack.

Gokudera mumbled something that was meant to be _'Fuck off, bastard.'_ but came out sounding vaguely like a cat choking on a furball. He carefully rearranged his limbs to sit up, his cheek chafing over the rough fabric of the couch. It took him a few moments to get himself upright but once the room had stopped spinning he devoted all of his attention to Yamamoto and his stupid ice pack.

The idiot shrugged and tossed it into Gokudera's lap before plopping down on the couch next to him. Gokudera pressed the ice pack to his aching jaw, hissing at the contrast of cold on heated skin. He only did it because throwing the bag at Yamamoto was too much of an effort and having it slowly liquify in his lap wasn't exactly comfortable either.

"Sorry about that." Yamamoto smiled apologetically. "But you were insufferable."

Gokudera worked his jaw a couple of times before he answered, "And you thought hitting me in the face would help?"

"Well, it did shut you up."

"Nicely done, doctor," Gokudera mocked, tentatively prodding what he suspected to be a faintly knuckle-shaped bruise. "Remind me never to consult you when I'm actually _hurt_."

"I said I'm sorry." Yamamoto's hand rubbed at the back of his neck again and Gokudera couldn't help but smile. His sister always used to say that he needed a hefty blow to the back of his head every once in a while in order to see reason. Yamamoto's aim was not quite as accurate as hers but it sufficed. She would probably like Yamamoto - as did everyone who was exposed to him for longer than two minutes. It was really annoying, in a heartwarming kind of way.

"Have you slept?" Yamamoto asked, observing him from the side.

"Not since you knocked me out, jerk."

Yamamoto grimaced. "Come on, you were only out for, like, a minute or so."

"That's because you hit like a whimp."

Sudden laughter filled the room, startling Gokudera. Yamamoto nudged him. "Still made you black out."

"Shut up, idiot," Gokudera grumbled, fiddling with the plastic to break the chunks of ice into smaller bits. For a while it was the only sound aside from the occasional footsteps of a nurse or a doctor outside. It wasn't even unpleasant. For all the chattiness that Yamamoto often displayed he was surprisingly good at staying silent.

Gokudera only looked up when he felt the couch wobble and suddenly had Yamamoto's feet in his face. "What the- what are you doing, stupid?"

Yamamoto wriggled about until he had created a comfortable dip in the upholstery and held out his hands as if expecting to catch something. He grinned. "You're tired, I'm tired, what do you think? I want to sleep with you."

The ice pack missed Yamamoto's face and dropped onto the floor. "Idiot."

A bit wider and Yamamoto's smile would have been the first 360° grin in history. "I swear I don't snore."

Gokudera pondered his options. He could sit here all night, biting his nails, craving coffee and cigarettes, and wallowing in his regrets, or he could lay down and leech off of Yamamoto's peace for a little while. His eyelids were telling him that they were planning on revolting against him in the near future anyway.

"No funny business," Gokudera reminded him.

"No funny business. Just sleep." Yamamoto nodded and his smile was like an extension of his arms, covering Gokudera with warmth and a little bit of _'It's gonna be alright...'_.

\---

Gokudera didn't want to wake up. He held onto that hazy feeling of being afloat between dream and reality with everything he had. There was the steady hum of a heartbeat and it was almost enough to lull him back to sleep. But there was also light assaulting his senses, and the couch beneath him was oddly shaped and moving and was making strange noises.

He battled the inevitable for another ten minutes or so, drifting in and out of sleep until his brain was too awake, picking up the threads of last night's thoughts. He groaned, burying his face in something that was comfortably warm and welcoming and yet distinctly harder than a couch.

He popped one eye open, mostly due to the other one being unresponsive, and observed his surroundings. There was the horribly neglected potted palm near the door, three couches, a half-unbuttoned shirt exposing a disturbingly well-toned chest, and Hibari.

Gokudera did an awkward double-take. "K-Kyouya!" He scrambled up faster than his bruised limbs wanted him to and gaped at Hibari, who was seated in a chair to their right, looking for all it was worth like nothing had ever happened. One wouldn't have noticed if it hadn't been for the pieces of gauze and bandage peeking out from under the standard hospital pyjama.

"Kyouya," Gokudera croaked once more (maybe to make sure he wasn't imagining things). "You-," he glanced down at Yamamoto who stretched lazily, smiling with his eyes closed like this was Sunday morning. "I can explain."

This only coaxed one of Hibari's eyebrows into action.

"Okay, I can explain parts of it," Gokudera grumbled, rubbing the grainy remains of sleep from his eyes. Beneath him, Yamamoto finally came back from the land of dreams, grinning first at Gokudera and then following his gaze towards Hibari.

"Oh! Hibari! You're up." Yamamoto offered his fellow FBI agent a hearty smile, but it was quickly replaced by a concerned frown. "Should you be up?"

Hibari gave a disinterested shrug, his eyes never leaving Gokudera’s. Meanwhile, Yamamoto wriggled into an upright position, yawning, and twisting until his joints gave a satisfying _plop_. It took him a couple of seconds to catch on to the meaningful silence. He looked from one to the other as if watching a tennis match. "I, uhm…," Yamamoto gestured vaguely. "I'll just... you know. Get some coffee. From Brazil or something." He hesitated, but eventually he slipped off the couch and shuffled out of the room, throwing them a slightly worried look over his shoulder.

The remaining silence dragged on until it was almost tangible. There were a number of things Gokudera meant to say but all of them seemed dumb, pointless, horribly cliché, or all of the above. He knew he wanted to be over there on that chair with Hibari, kissing the bloody bastard senseless, but Hibari's expression weighed him down like sand bags.

"You look like shit," Hibari commented after a while.

Gokudera gave a derisive snort. "Well, thanks. So do you."

"I had a building blow up in my face. What's your excuse?"

 _How about being up all night not knowing if you're alive or dead?_ , Gokudera thought but he didn't say it. For one, it didn't feel right to turn this into a contest over who had had the shittiest night; and secondly, it wasn't so much an excuse as it was a result. It was a result of his failure and, no matter what Yamamoto said, it wasn't going to go away by quietly accepting it.

Sadly, screaming at it hadn't helped either so, Gokudera tried a different approach. "Look," he scratched at the bandage again, pretending that it required all of his attention. "I... fucked up. I know you hate apologies but just this once let me finish, okay?"

Words were crammed on the tip of his tongue like a verbal traffic jam and it took a moment to sort out the ones that worked from the ones that would make him sound like a whiny kid. "I should have been more careful. I should have known to look for traps but I didn't. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry I messed up and I'm... you know, I'm glad you're... you're..." _Alive and well_ , but that never made it out of his mouth because it implied that there had been a point when he hadn't been so sure. He fidgeted, anticipating Hibari's reply. It was probably a good thing that they were in a hospital - that way they wouldn't have to carry him far if he got punched in the face. But Hibari didn't do anything of the sort. In fact, he didn't so much as twitch for a long while.

Gokudera was almost ready to ask the stoic bastard to say something, _anything_ , when Hibari finally spoke. It wasn't what Gokudera had expected.

"It wasn't Mukuro."

Gokudera blinked in bewilderment. "Did I lose time or something? Because I'm not following."

"I said it wasn't Mukuro," Hibari repeated in the same calm tone as before.

Gokudera was too baffled to answer with anything other than a slightly irritated, "What?"

"Doesn't it strike you as odd that Mukuro would devise a plan that took years to put into action and then go and and blow up his own warehouse?" Hibari spoke quietly. "The explosion tore his entire plan to shreds."

Gokudera wasn't sure if he was supposed to be angry or relieved about Hibari's complete disinterest in his apology. He was leaning towards angry. At least _some_ sort of acknowledgement would have been nice. But if Hibari wanted to go back to business there was hardly anything he could do about it. Beating a dead horse only made you a very stupid rider without transportation. So,Gokudera tried to tune into the conversation Hibari wanted to have.

Besides, he did have a point. "Okay...," Gokudera agreed carefully, frowning. "Now that you mention it, it does seem like overkill."

There were certainly more subtle and above all less _expensive_ ways to take care of intruders. Gas, poison, daggers, anything that took unwanted guests out without attracting too much attention. Blowing up a building seemed awfully out of character for someone like Mukuro. Especially, if that meant that his entire stock would be destroyed in the process.

"I've been making inquiries," Hibari continued and Gokudera almost fell off the couch. "And I think I know who it was."

" _Inquiries_?" Gokudera's eyes narrowed. "How long have you been up for?"

Hibari glanced at the clock above the entrance. "About three hours."

"Three hours?" Gokudera sputtered. "You've been up for _three fucking hours_ and you didn't think to wake me to tell me that you're okay?"

"I needed time," Hibari stated matter-of-factly. "And you needed sleep."

Gokudera slumped back and gave up. He wasn't too well-versed in social etiquette himself but he was pretty sure that if you walked out of surgery - and the chances of Hibari actually _walking_ out of there were pretty high - and you had a lover worrying about you, you damned well poked your head in and let them know you were okay. The aggravating part was that Hibari's way of handling things made more _sense_.

"As I was saying," Hibari shot him an indignant look. "I believe it wasn't Mukuro who planted that bomb. I think it was a hitman."

Gokudera perked up. "A hitman? Why would-," he closed his eyes in dreadful realisation. "Xanxus."

Hibari nodded. "Which is why neither of us expected there to be a bomb."

Gokudera lifted his head just enough so he could eye his partner. "So, basically, you just let me apologise for something you think wasn't my fault?"

"You wanted to apologise." Hibari gave a shrug. "So, I let you. You're useless when you're brooding."

"And simply saying _'Hey, pal, don't beat yourself up over it because I don't hold you responsible.'_ didn't come to mind?"

"Would you have believed me?"

Gokudera pressed his lips together in a defiant line. "You're such a jerk," he declared eventually, picking at the fabric of the couch and successfully avoiding to look the truth in its attentive, steel-grey eyes. "But I'm glad you're not dead." His voice trailed off at the end, and maybe he was hoping Hibari wouldn't hear him, but Hibari had damned good ears.

"Agreed." Hibari smirked. "Who knows who would have become your new handler."

"I didn't mean it like that," Gokudera said, a little miffed.

"I know." Hibari didn't look at him but Gokudera could just about make out the hint of a smile. And for a moment they were not in a bleak hospital but on the couch in Hibari's living room where everything was a bit easier.

Of course, it didn't last long. Hibari straightened up and Gokudera couldn't help but look for any signs of pain. Hibari was either the most convincing actor in the world or his pain medication was even stronger than Gokudera's.

"Tetsu will be here soon with a change of clothes," Hibari announced and got up. "We have to go."

"Whoa, wait." Gokudera stopped him. "I doubt they'll just let you walk out of here. You've spent half the night in fucking _surgery_ , you stubborn freak!"

Hibari's expression indicated that he was looking forward to any doctor trying to talk him out of it.

"Okay." Gokudera rubbed a hand over his face, sighing. "Forget it. How stupid of me to assume you would listen to a bunch of doctors."

Hibari ignored his comment. Instead, he turned around and before Gokudera even got a chance to speak up Hibari's lips were on his. It was strange how long it took them to do the things they should have been doing all along, but Gokudera wasn't going to complain. Kisses were a lot more pleasant than slaps upside the head.

"Uhm... what was that for?" Gokudera asked tentatively, their lips still close enough for Gokudera to _feel_ rather than see Hibari smile.

"You'll figure it out."


	13. The Inexhaustible Bottle

Gokudera stood outside the front entrance of the hospital, contemplating plucking a cigarette from the pack Kusakabe had brought with the fresh set of clothes. Admittedly, the man was beginning to grow on Gokudera. It was also slightly disconcerting how well Hibari's second-in-command already knew his habits.

He discarded the idea, though, when Yamamoto stepped out of the building and came up to him. He couldn't quite suppress a snicker when he saw Yamamoto prodding his reddening cheek.

"Let me guess," Gokudera grinned. "You asked him if it was really okay for him to drive?"

Yamamoto's cheek bulged as he inspected any internal damage with his tongue. He winced and nodded. "Won't do that again."

"I told you."

Yamamoto threw a glance over his shoulder at the Mercedes rolling to a halt in front of the entrance. The motor kept on humming and if one looked very closely one might have seen a set of fingers, drumming impatiently on the steering wheel.

"Neither of you should be driving, if you ask me," Yamamoto finally said, sounding sincere.

Gokudera waved it off, all evidence pointing to the contrary. "Please. I only have a few scratches and Hibari is... is…," he searched for the right words but nothing could properly describe just how resilient Hibari was. It was Yamamoto who helped him out this time.

"Captain America?" Yamamoto suggested with a grin and Gokudera stifled a laugh.

"Something like that," Gokudera admitted, careful not to let his smile turn all too fond because he wasn't sappy like that.

"I told you." Yamamoto gave him a knowing wink, accompanied by a friendly nudge.

"What are you, a parrot?" Gokudera scowled, rubbing his arm theatrically and willing himself not to be affected by Yamamoto's bright laugh. It was tougher than it looked. "So," Gokudera went for the casual approach, burying his hands in the pockets of his jacket and pretending to find the revolving door most fascinating. "Are you going to stick around for a while?"

He tried to ignore the way his heart sank when Yamamoto's smile turned sad. "You know I would love to but... er... I have this case up North and they think I'm visiting my sick grandmother, as it is."

"I see," Gokudera said because save for clinging to Yamamoto's leg there was hardly anything he could do. That didn't mean he wasn't considering the pant leg option as a last resort.

"Sorry." Yamamoto's hand completed its usual arc to the back of his neck and Gokudera just couldn't stand the rueful picture Yamamoto presented at the moment.

"So, I'm your grandmother, huh?" It was a terrible excuse for a joke but he wasn't exactly aiming to win the Emmy.

Yamamoto grinned, impossibly white teeth outshining even the most impeccable doctor's outfit, "Sorry, that's the best I could come up with at such short notice."

Gokudera snorted. "Well, next time I'll make sure to send you a text before I walk into any exploding buildings.”

"I would prefer if you didn't do it at all." Yamamoto peeked at him like he expected a downpour of cuss words. Luckily for him Hibari was honking and Gokudera knew he had about two minutes before this went critical. So, Gokudera refrained from pointing out how ridiculous Yamamoto was behaving, and how it was completely unnecessary and uncalled for. And if it hadn’t been so adorable that would have really helped cement his argument.

"Stop mothering me, idiot," Gokudera grumbled as he started walking down the stairs while Yamamoto remained standing at the top. He had never been very good at saying good-bye so, he didn't.

"Hey, Gokudera?" Yamamoto called out to him before he could get into the car. Gokudera turned around, shooting the moron an expectant look. Yamamoto's expression was uncharacteristically serious. "Please don't do that again, okay?"

Gokudera sighed; he could have pointed out that it had hardly been part of the plan to get blown up but it was difficult to be sarcastic when he was facing someone who had jumped into a car in the middle of the night and had driven for hours just to hold his goddamned hand. It was twice as hard when that person was Yamamoto. It wasn't as if Gokudera had that many friends to begin with, but the number of people who would have done such a thing for him was even smaller.

"We'll be careful." Gokudera rolled his eyes in a feeble attempt to keep at least some of his reputation up. "Get that black eye looked at, stupid. Or you'll end up looking like the hunchback of Nôtre Dame."

"You saying you wouldn't find me attractive anymore?" Yamamoto grinned so brightly Gokudera had the urge to put on sunglasses. He was also aware that his cheeks were heating up. If the damned oaf didn't stop flirting Hibari was going to run him over.

"Shut up, asshole," Gokudera snarled as he got into the car and pulled the door shut. Yamamoto's laughter filtered in through the supposedly soundproof windows clearer than it had any right to in a world with physics.

"What?" He hissed when Hibari glared at him instead of leaving a set of rubber marks on the concrete.

Hibari's stare intensified for a second but he didn’t say anything. Then he simply forced the Mercedes around in a breakneck motion and sped out of the parking lot so fast Gokudera almost broke off the door handle in an attempt to hold on.

“Oh, so we’re not talking?” Gokudera grumbled after a couple of near-death experiences. “Right. Are you jealous because Yamamoto came to see me? Is that it? Yeah?”

Hibari almost pushed another car off the street.

Gokudera nodded. “Brilliant. You know, that’s great. You can have a bloody fit about another guy doing something nice for me, but I can’t be put off by your love-hate relationship with Mukuro. That’s fucking great. No hypocrisy in this at all, jerkface.”

The car veered dangerously and for a second Gokudera already saw them lying dead in a ditch. The Mercedes rattled to a halt by the side of the road. Gokudera was unsure what to make of this - and if he was going to come out of it alive.

Hibari stared straight ahead but if he glared any harder the asphalt in front of them was going to melt. “I despise Mukuro. The only place where anything could ever be between us is in his filthy little mind. You, on the other hand... you like Yamamoto.”

Gokudera blinked, baffled. “You are such an asshole.” He yanked the door open and scrambled out of the car with as much fuss as possible. He stalked ahead, the sound of the cars whooshing by like angry waves.

The Mercedes caught up to him and kept pace with him, which didn’t just annoy Gokudera, but also the rest of the traffic. If Hibari thought he could be a gigantic jerk about _nothing_ without Gokudera making a big deal of it, then he was wrong.

Hibari rolled down the passenger side window. “Hayato.”

“You know what? No.” Gokudera whirled around, planting his intact elbow on the window frame. He was seething with anger. “Do you really think I would be here if you had anything to worry about? Do you think I would have this fucking _stupid_ conversation with you, if I liked Yamamoto that way? I mean, sure, he’s a nice guy, but I am _here_ , and that should tell you all you need to know, you insensitive jerk.” He started walking again, muttering to himself, “God, I can’t believe I actually need to tell you this.”

“Are you finished?” Hibari asked, the car steadily rolling by Gokudera’s side like a loyal dog.

“I don’t know.” Gokudera stopped walking, throwing up his hands. “Are you?”

Hibari was silent, as if he had to think about that. “Yes,” he said eventually. “Get in the car.”

Gokudera shook his head, drumming his fingers on the hood of the Mercedes.

“ _Please_ ,” Hibari ground out. It took him audible effort to say it.

Gokudera let out a long breath. There wasn’t really anywhere to go, and staging a sit-in on the sidewalk didn’t look very appealing either. He pulled the door open, and poked his head in. “If you ever do anything like this again I will cut the brakes on this thing and watch you sail off a cliff.”

“Except you would be in here with me,” Hibari mused as Gokudera slumped into the passenger seat.

“Yeah.” Gokudera put on a false grin. “But I’m an escape artist and you’re not.” He poked his tongue out at Hibari. If they were going to be childish, they might as well do it properly.

Hibari ignored it, in favour of easing back into traffic. He was driving a lot more carefully now, Gokudera noticed.

“And for the record,” Gokudera said. “Jealousy is not attractive. That’s not an acceptable way to show me that you care.”

Hibari frowned. “What is an acceptable way?”

“I- well...,” Gokudera paused. He hadn’t given that any real thought. “The key to my anklet would be a really good start, I suppose?”

Hibari threw him a sideways glance that told him there would be a cold day in Hell before Hibari did anything like that.

“Okay, fine.” Gokudera gave in. “Maybe not that. Anything but _jealousy_ , though.”

Hibari nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You do that.” Gokudera let his head fall back, staring at the passing street signs. Hopefully, this would be the last he would ever hear about the Yamamoto issue. It took him a moment to realise that they had missed their turn. "Where are we going?" He inquired with a frown.

"Back to the crime scene."

Gokudera's eyes almost popped out of his head. "Back to the warehouse? What for?"

"We missed something," Hibari insisted. The sheer amount of confidence in his voice could have crushed a rock.

Gokudera let out an exasperated sigh; if not even a fucking explosion could convince Hibari to give up, then how in the hell was he supposed to do that?

"Do I need to remind you that you are _still_ not an FBI agent?" Gokudera said with an acid-sweet smile. The field director had swung by earlier, but Gokudera highly doubted that he'd come to give Hibari his badge back. If anything, this entire catastrophe might get him fired altogether.

"No." Hibari didn’t even glance at him. "Because I'm still _temporarily suspended_."

Gokudera groaned; he was _not_ having this conversation again. He concentrated on a different angle instead. "What-the-fuck-ever. I'm just wondering why we're not going home like everyone told us to."

He could see Hibari's knuckles shift underneath the skin of his hands as his hold on the steering wheel tightened. "Mukuro has fled the country and the only clues he left are at the warehouse."

Gokudera studied his partner for a while. Hibari was by no means a casual driver but he did sit up straighter than normal, his back awkwardly arched. He should have been in a hospital bed, resting and healing. Gokudera didn't need to be a doctor to see that. But Hibari was Hibari. Like a fractal, he was pretty, self-sufficient, and could not be reasoned with.

The only way to get him to rest was to help him get this over with as quickly as possible. It seemed irrelevant at this point that Gokudera had collected a few impressive scratches along the way. He wanted nothing more than to lay down and tell the world to go screw itself.

"Okay." Gokudera slumped back, flinching at the stab of pain in his shoulder. "But if we don't find anything we're going home. Clear?"

The only sign that Hibari had even heard him was a sudden increase in speed as the Mercedes shot past a crossing at the last millisecond of green light.


	14. Card Warp

"You know what I don't get?" Gokudera mused as they stepped onto the parking lot near the warehouses. "If it was a professional hitman why didn't he kill us before last night? There were plenty of opportunities, I'm sure."

Hibari shrugged and opened the trunk, rummaging around inside. "This way it will most likely be attributed to Mukuro. Fewer questions."

"Killing two birds with one stone, huh?" Gokudera grumbled. "Nice."

He watched Hibari pull two familiar weapons out of a bag and raised his eyebrows. "Where the hell did you get these from?"

"Did you really think I wouldn't have spares?" Hibari fastened the tonfa in the special holster he sometimes wore. The slight hesitation and somewhat jerky movements did not go undetected but Gokudera didn't say anything. Hibari was not a fan of useless questions like _'Are you okay?'_.

"I'm pretty sure when the field director asked you to surrender your weapons he meant _all your weapons_ ," Gokudera remarked in the same resigned tone used by unnerved kindergarten teachers all over the world.

Hibari's answer was a simple shrug of his shoulders. Gokudera didn't argue. Besides, there was a certain air of safety once Hibari was armed - that was, of course, if the safety zone included Gokudera.

They marched down the road towards the destroyed warehouse without encountering a single soul, which was odd considering there had been a burning building a couple of hours ago.

"Wow." Gokudera scanned the blackened remains. "Your FBI buddies sure made quick work of this place."

The only evidence that there had been some sort of law enforcement present was an overabundance of yellow tape spanning across all possible access points. The air smelled of burnt plastic, wet wood, and fire extinguisher liquid. The steel and concrete skeleton of the warehouse sat squat in the middle of a small demilitarised zone. Parts of metal racks lay strewn around, all bent and ripped apart like dismembered limbs; heavy steel bars that had previously held the roof had put holes into some surrounding buildings. Ash-grey puddles of water completed the overall picture of devastation.

Gokudera ducked under the tape and followed Hibari closer to the rotten tooth of a building. He swallowed hard when he realised just how closely they had come to death.

Hibari, on the other hand, didn't seem to be concerned by it. He immediately started walking through the debris, prodding at pieces of unidentifiable matter with the tip of his shoe. Gokudera just stood there with his hands in his pockets trying not to imagine them as two bloody smears on the ground.

"Doesn't it bother you at all?" Gokudera finally asked.

Hibari just kept climbing over what looked like a piece of the shutter gate. "And what would that be?"

Gokudera gestured wildly. "That you almost _died here_."

Hibari actually stopped for a moment to shoot him a contemplative look. Then he shrugged. "I didn't. Neither did you. Where is the use in thinking about something that didn't happen?"

"But it was damned close, asshole!" Gokudera yelled. It was hard to argue with someone who saw death as something that could be dealt with by a well-aimed blow of a tonfa. The sad part was that, for Hibari it might actually work that way.

"I'll worry about it when it gets closer," Hibari concluded and disappeared into the ruins. Gokudera meant to counter with something but the number of sensible things he could say was limited.

 _If it gets any closer you'll be dead_ , came to mind but Gokudera refrained from saying it out loud. Somehow he was getting pretty used to a world with Hibari in it. For lack of intelligent arguments Gokudera simply sighed and followed Hibari inside. "You're a freak, you know that?"

"Depends on the standards you apply to everyone else." Hibari's voice drifted over to him from somewhere behind a molten mass of plastic and metal. Gokudera squeezed through two shelves that were knotted together like threads of wool and discovered Hibari staring at the floor.

"What's missing here?"

Gokudera grimaced. "I don't know. How about _a fucking building_?"

Hibari was not amused. Gokudera rolled his eyes and actually made an effort. He glanced around the crumbling shell of the warehouse. They were at the far side of the building. The wall was mostly intact in this area. The closer one got to the entrance the greater the force of the explosion. Gokudera wracked his brain to figure out what Hibari might be referring to. It was all there - well, _partially_ there, anyway - the plastic wrapping of dozens of packets of paper, stains on the wall twinkling with splotches of fluorescent paint, and-

"The printing press." Gokudera's eyes went wide as it dawned on him. "There’s no trace of the mint."

Hibari nodded while Gokudera tried to estimate the available space. There was no way this building could have housed a printing press in between all those shelves.

"Even if he'd been able to fit it in here, we would have found pieces of it all over the place," Gokudera pondered aloud. "The explosion would have dismantled it." Hibari was quietly listening - or not; one could never say for certain if he was paying attention or just sleeping with his eyes open - while Gokudera rambled on, "The FBI could have picked up the pieces as evidence."

Neither of them believed that. They should have found at least some sort of blank spot where the heavy machinery had blocked the brunt of the blast, but there was nothing. Everything was the same grimy brown and black.

Naturally, Hibari shook his head. "No. It was never in here to begin with."

"A second warehouse?" Gokudera smirked but Hibari failed to acknowledge it.

"It has probably already left the country," Hibari mused. "Along with him." If Hibari's tone of voice could have been distilled into liquid form it would have burned through titanium.

"Well," Gokudera straightened up. "If he didn't abandon the mint, it means he has another stash of paper and ink too. Otherwise, moving it out of the country would have no benefit at all."

"How would you smuggle a printing press out of the country?" Hibari suddenly inquired, which led Gokudera to assume that he simply agreed with the previous statement.

Gokudera only gave a nonchalant shrug. "Same way it got in. In parts."

Hibari hummed low in his throat. He was looking around the debris as if searching for something very specific. Gokudera casually leaned against a piece of wreckage that wasn't all slimy and disgusting, waiting for Hibari to reach whatever conclusion he was hoping to find.

That was, until Hibari's gaze zeroed in on Gokudera's right shoulder. "What?" Gokudera craned his neck to see what was so damned interesting - shortly before Hibari threw him to the ground while bullets soared through the air above their heads.

"What the fucking hell- _Ow!_ " Gokudera winced, his bruised shoulder connecting painfully with the floor. Another flock of bullets whirled past and hit the rack next to him. That was more than the unstable structure could take. Hibari pulled him away by the lapel of his jacket, just in time before the metal struts buried themselves in the spot where his head had been.

Gokudera crawled over to Hibari, who was crouched behind the remains of the wall. It was just high enough to hide them from view - supposing there was only one shooter and that he was on the roof of the neighbouring building.

"Fuck!" Gokudera yelped as a patch of wall exploded above him. Every now and then a small red dot danced across the ruins like an instant death certificate.

Hibari was a lot less disturbed by the sudden ambush. He twisted around to squint over the edge of their impromptu trench.

"Great," Gokudera snarled and ducked as another bullet drilled itself into a block of concrete, "He's come back to finish the job."

Hibari had no comment to share on the matter but instead reached under his jacket to unfasten the tonfa. Gokudera gaped at him. "What the fuck are you up to?"

"Cover me." And with that Hibari was gone from Gokudera's side, dodging between pieces of architecture.

"Cover you with _what_ , dispshit?" Gokudera screamed, hauling himself to the floor as another round of shots gnawed at the remaining wall. He cursed and desperately tried to find out why in the hell he was wasting so much as a single thought on actually _drawing the fire on him_.

"I would feel _so much_ better if I had a gun," he muttered, slowly making his way towards a loose metal bar. "I would even be thankful if _any of us_ had a gun but nooo, guns are so overrated. The only thing you can do with them is fucking _shoot people_ , so why bother?"

He grabbed the piece of wreckage and pulled it towards him, flinching when a streak of bullets left holes in the floor in a threateningly straight line. At least, he seemed to be doing his job. Wherever Hibari was, _he_ was certainly not getting shot at.

Gokudera continued to grumble to himself as he discarded his jacket and wrapped it around the metal pole. It ended up looking like some kind of disfigured puppet but it was going to have to do. He carefully shoved it past the edge of the wall.

A whole battalion's worth of bullets tore through the cloth almost instantly.

"Damn." Gokudera stared at the shreds of his jacket and thought twice about trying to move out of his current hiding place. On the other hand, he couldn't stay there forever. Eventually, the shooter would catch on to what they were doing. Whatever it was that they were, in fact, doing.

"You better have a goddamned brilliant plan, you wacko," Gokudera growled at the little Hibari inside his head as he watched the red dot sneak closer. He swung the metal bar, jacket and everything, and tossed it as far away as he could. Even before the first shot rang through the air he scrambled over the floor towards the gaping hole that had previously been the back door.

He stumbled outside, quickly pressing himself flat against the wall. His heart was pounding and his breath was coming in frantic hitches but he resisted the urge to pat his body down for any missing parts. At least, everything felt like it was still there and at first sight he didn't seem to be oozing any kind of life-sustaining liquid either. It was then that he realised the gunfire had ceased.

He crept closer to the corner and peered up at the adjoining warehouse. There was a flash of silver that Gokudera knew only too well. And like the thunder after the lightning there were shots, but none aimed at Gokudera.

He used this chance to hurry to the rusty fire ladder at the back of the building. That damned reckless bastard was fighting the hitman up there and Gokudera was his only backup. It should have bugged him that he was preparing to intervene in a fight in favour of an FBI agent - even a potentially 'ex' one - but in reality he could only think of how Hibari was not going to freaking _die_ today. Or any day, ever.

God knew he didn't take Hibari for a lightweight but in his current state he was basically asking to get his ass kicked.

Gokudera clambered over the edge and ducked behind one of the skylights. He poked his head over the glass just enough to make out two blurs that were engaged in the sort of hand-to-hand combat that ripped holes into the fabric of the universe.

As far as he could tell Hibari was holding his ground but sooner or later one of those bullets was going to hit home, no matter how invincible Hibari thought he was.

Gokudera's mind raced. He had to come up with a way to stop this fight before it ended bloody. Sparks flew when a stray bullet ricocheted off the metal frame of the skylight mere inches from Gokudera's head. He jerked away and pressed his back against the glass pane. He swallowed back the lump in his throat and tried to ignore the way his heart was doing trampoline practice in his chest. Judging by the noise the two men were still at it, steel clinking against the barrel of one, possibly even two guns.

Admittedly, this hitman was good. Countering Hibari's blows with a weapon that was designed for long-range attacks was not easy. And to Gokudera's horror the assassin seemed to get even better at it. When Gokudera twisted back around Hibari was getting shoved towards the far edge of the roof.

Even Hibari had a limit and Gokudera had the uncanny feeling that they were about to find out where exactly that was. He could see Hibari's legs shaking with the effort of pushing back. Another of Hibari's swings missed and he was stumbling backwards. The hitman took aim with a subtle smirk but the bullet never left the chamber.

Gokudera did the only thing he could think of: he smashed the skylight. It was already cracked anyway. It was all he could do for lack of weapons. It was meant to distract the killer. And that worked scarily well. Now Gokudera was the centre of the man’s attention.

The shooter observed Gokudera with the cold, calculating look of someone who had taken the decision of life and death off of God's hands many times. Strangely enough, the gun suddenly disappeared from his hand and instead he reached out to help Hibari up.

Gokudera gawked as Hibari swatted the hand away and staggered to his feet, dusting off his clothes. For some mystical reason the tonfa were gone as well.

"What the fuck just happened?" Gokudera blurted out, feeling for all it was worth like the proverbial duck in the thunderstorm. He was liberally ignored, watching in amazement as the two opponents shook hands - a bit stiffly and guarded but without killing each other. Either he had been catapulted into another dimension or he was missing a great part of the situation.

The hitman slowly walked towards Gokudera, his lips set in a line that could have been a smile if smiles were meant to be creepy. He crouched down to pick up a hat that had apparently been lost in the struggle, and finally allowed Gokudera a closer look at him. The man was tall and lean, and if Gokudera hadn't seen the guy’s skill with a weapon, he would have laughed at the curly sideburns.

The assassin brushed dirt off his fedora with one hand and then twirled it in the other until it landed neatly on his head. He packed up his gear in no semblance of hurry and made his way towards the fire escape as if this was nothing but a pleasant stroll in the park.

" _Buongiorno, Signor Gokudera,_ " he said in perfect Italian as he passed by. Gokudera merely continued to stare and willed himself not to flinch. There were some man-points he wasn’t going to give up.

Gokudera glanced at Hibari, who was busy restoring his outfit to its former state. When he turned back around the nameless hitman had vanished.

"What," Gokudera spun around, taking in dramatic gulps of air between every other word. "On God's green earth were you _thinking_?"

Hibari gave him the same look as a disinterested owl. "I don't know what you mean."

Gokudera inhaled and flung his arms around more wildly than ever. "What part of fighting a fucking _hitman_ in your current state seemed like a good idea to you?"

"We weren't fighting."

There was a good chance that never, in the evolution of the human physique, eyes had protruded this far out of their sockets without getting detached entirely. Gokudera was battling the urge to grab Hibari by the collar of his shirt and shake him. "Then what in the name of all that is holy were you doing? Playing canasta?"

Hibari had taken to wiping his tonfa with a handkerchief. "We were talking."

"Talk-," Gokudera attempted to retune his brain to Hibari's wavelength but failed. " _Talking_ involves moving your mouth not your damned fists!"

"I like discussing things over a good fight." Hibari shrugged and fished the other tonfa out of its resting place. "It helps to reduce the amount of superfluous babble."

"Would it help _this_ conversation if I hit you in the face?"

Hibari threw him a disapproving glance. "Just to end it."

Gokudera ran a hand through his hair and let out a heartfelt sigh. "Okay. Humour me. What were you talking about?"

"Mukuro's whereabouts."

"Sure." Sarcasm dripped off of every syllable. "The guy who was trying to kill us told you where to find Mukuro. Out of the goodness of his heart. Makes sense."

"You don't have to come if you don't believe me," Hibari deadpanned and strutted past him. He was limping slightly.

"Why would he even do that?" Gokudera called after him but Hibari didn't even need to reply. All of a sudden the answer presented itself to Gokudera like the final clue in a murder mystery.

"You...," Gokudera pointed a finger at Hibari who had actually taken time to stop and look at him, "You _paid him out_ , didn't you? You just raised his payday to get him to back off."

Hibari smirked and Gokudera's jaw dropped. "And yet you fought him? Are you _nuts_?"

"I told you." Hibari waited with his hands in his pockets like he hadn't just come out of a mad showdown. "I like to discuss things over a fight. And he wasn't trying to kill us."

Gokudera shook his head, still working to wrap his mind around the idea as he slouched over to Hibari. "Well, excuse me very fucking much for misinterpreting. I was confused because of all these _bullets flying over my head_."

"He was just trying to get my attention."

Gokudera groaned. "He couldn't have written a note or something?"

"It was easier this way."

"You call that easy?"

Hibari gave him this meaningful smile that made his eyes twinkle in a certain way that Gokudera couldn't quite put his finger on but that was utterly fascinating. "Come on, we have to go."

"Go where?" Gokudera asked while trudging after Hibari.

"Slovenia."

"Did he really tell you that or did you just randomly pick a country so I would shut up?"

"What do you think?" Hibari swung his legs over the edge of the roof and onto the first step of the ladder, smirking.

Gokudera took a moment to consider and then decided he didn't give a damn. He was exhausted beyond belief, his head was a giant balloon, his bones and joints felt like they were made of old rubber, and the noise of the gunshots was still echoing in his ears. So, instead of harking on about a matter that would certainly be addressed at a later point he leaned on the ladder and looked down at Hibari. "You know, I think I figured it out."

"What?" Hibari glanced up at him.

"The kiss. At the hospital."

"Did you now?"

Gokudera nodded. He wasn't very proficient in telling people that he cared for them - mostly because he'd never received much of the same in return - so he just said the least sappy thing that came to mind. "Yeah. I feel the same way."

Hibari eyed him for a second like he had just presented a new controversial theorem and then smiled. "Good."

"Good?" Gokudera fussed while Hibari continued to climb down. "That's all you've got to say? What the hell kind of answer is that?"

"A truthful one." Hibari touched down on the ground and lifted his head to look at him. "Now hurry up, we need to leave."

"Is this your way of saying 'I love you'?" Gokudera nagged and almost broke his neck, missing the first step of the ladder when Hibari simply said, "Yes."

\---

"I can't believe you got the Bureau to agree to this." Gokudera shook his head, squinting at Hibari through his sunglasses.

They were sitting outside a café in the heart of Ljubljana, overlooking the river. The city was nice this time of year; not too hot and not cold enough to warrant more than a jacket. But apart from its obvious scenic and climatic attractions it offered another very tempting advantage: It was squat in the middle of Slovenia, which happened to have no extradition treaty with the US.

Nice choice, Gokudera had to give it to Mukuro. Besides, the Euro was only a couple of years old over here, which made larger exchanges less suspicious.

"They didn't," Hibari said absent-mindedly while counting coins onto the small tray their waiter had brought the check on.

"What?" Gokudera sat up straight, yanking his sunglasses off to present Hibari with the full force of his glare. "What did you tell them?"

Hibari started comparing coins, his brow furrowing. "That you had escaped and I had to chase you."

" _What?_ " Gokudera squeaked, alarming a few guests on nearby tables. "Have you gone completely mad? Why would you do that, you bastard?" He fumbled the sunglasses back onto his nose and tried to hide as much of himself under the table as was possible without laying flat on the ground. If anybody recognised him he was dead meat.

Meanwhile, Hibari was dropping coins onto the tray as if he was playing Nine Men's Morris. Gokudera watched it for a while until he couldn't take it any longer and clawed the tray out of Hibari's hands. He sorted out the coins that didn't belong (unless Hibari intended to pay the waiter’s rent) and shoved the tray back onto the table. Hibari observed him, his eyes two twinkling slits against the sun. It made him look like he was suppressing a grin.

It turned out that he was.

Gokudera made a sour face, pointing an accusatory finger at Hibari. "You! You fucking... _pezzo di merda_. That was not funny, asshole."

Hibari smirked at him.

"I liked you better without a sense of humour, jerkface," Gokudera declared and studied the architectural wonders of Ljubljana with great interest. He was planning on doing so until the smug grin on Hibari's face was gone. Sadly, it looked like he was going to be able to write a thesis on it.

Waiters bustled by and since Hibari was too busy being superior and Gokudera refused to speak at all neither of them told anyone to keep the change. As a result the tray miraculously turned up on their table with even tinier coins on it than before.

Gokudera snorted as Hibari began to rummage through the assorted currency, obviously at a loss as to how many coins to leave. He ended up tossing random coins onto the tray like stones in a pond. Gokudera allowed himself a smirk of his own when he noticed Hibari was leaving a tip of about ten dollars. Exchange rates were a bitch.

He was just about to reach over the table when Hibari suddenly stilled, staring at the heap of coins. Then he started scanning the vicinity like a dog smelling blood.

Gokudera craned his neck, frowning. "What, did he give you the wrong change?"

Hibari didn't answer; instead he jumped up so abruptly that the table waggled and most of the small change landed either in Gokudera's lap or on the ground.

"Hey! What-," Gokudera exclaimed but Hibari was already sprinting away, sliding over tables and dodging between confused tourists.

"What the hell?" Gokudera quickly searched through the bunch of coins and picked up one that stood out compared to the standardised Euros. It had irregular edges and was definitely not made for common use - at least not in this century. There was the vague impression of a lily on it.

"Damn." He held the coin in his open palm and somehow couldn't help but be amazed. "Wrong change indeed." A moment later he realised that he was not only standing amongst a crowd of guests and irritated personnel but that he was also standing there _alone_.

"Uhm," he shrugged at the nearest waiter. "Sorry. He does that sometimes." And then he bailed out of there as fast as he could, following Hibari. Fuck it, if Mukuro thought he was a mindless dog or if his ass formed a permanent organic bond with Hibari's passenger seat. Fuck it all, because there were really worse things that could happen.

He'd been caught, put to work for the enemy of every decent criminal out there, had been shot in the back, gotten kidnapped, had failed a break-in on purpose, had survived a major explosion, had been lied to and used. That pretty much summed up the 'worse' part.

But perhaps Gokudera was running to catch up because Hibari was the better part.


End file.
